


What it means to be living

by mjonesing (klassmartin)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, I don't even know what to tag my brain is fried, Ned is a Sassy Bro, Peter Pan AU, Pining, Road Trips, Spideychelle Week 2020, THE WHOLE TRIP, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24840454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/mjonesing
Summary: "Are you serious right now? You want to run away?! Why would you possibly want to -""Would you, please, shut up?" she hisses at him, leaning forward like she's panicking, and he realises he'd gone from quiet, appropriate library level of talking to a level of screeching that possibly only dogs could here."I'm not suggesting running away," she says exasperatedly, hands waving around in a way that was more like him than her, "It's more… It's half road trip, half…""Running away?"She snarkily pokes her tongue out at him. "You haven't said no.""I assumed that was implied with the very minor freak out at your proposition."-----Or: A story of Michelle Jones and the Lost Boy finding meaning, understanding and joy - and maybe even each other - on a trip that will change their lives.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 63
Kudos: 78
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	1. The Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS CAN YOU BELIEVE IT'S HERE! SPIDEYCHELLE WEEK HAS FINALLY ARRIVED!  
> This is my submission for 'Roadtrip', 'Fairy Tale Retelling', and 'Only One Bed'. I'll be posting a chapter on each of the days this corresponds to (day 1, 3 and 7)... As long as I get it finished in time because the ending is not co-operating.
> 
> I've been writing this story since some time last year and when the dates were announced for Spideychelle Week it gave me something to aim for and work on and I'm so grateful for that. Lockdown has been HARD and this was the little project that I poured a lot of myself into when everything else seemed so impossible.
> 
> I also have another fic that ticks off most of the other prompts but... I have not finished it. It got super out of hand and went from a roughly 5000 word one shot to a multiple chaptered thing that is... Well. Hopefully I'll finish it so I can post it.
> 
> ANYWAY TO THE POINT. This is a canon divergence based loosely on Peter Pan. I wanted to explore a mental space that Peter was probably in after Endgame and how he was struggling with it all, and the culmination of everything that's happened since becoming Spiderman. I was also curious about how Michelle coped (because ffh just ignored all of that) and her response to finishing such a crucial chapter of her life... And I'm rambling, that's for another chapter's notes.
> 
> I have so much to say about this story guys, I can't help it. If you wanna talk about it just say hi and I'll chat for hours.
> 
> Also I don't know how the American school system works so ignore my approach to end of senior year, by the time I figured it out I'd already written half of the story and changing it was too complicated.
> 
> Title from Fast car by Tracy Chapman (the original inspiration for this story)  
> Song lyrics from the beginning of each part are from Lost Boy by Ruth B.  
> Quotes are from various J.M. Barrie's writings on the adventures of Peter Pan, bold titles are from the chapter names.

_There was a time when I was alone._  
_Nowhere to go and no place to call home._  
_My only friend was the man in the moon,_  
_And even sometimes he would go away, too._  
_Then one night, as I closed my eyes,_  
_I saw a shadow flying high._  
_He came to me with the sweetest smile,_  
_Told me he wanted to talk for awhile._  
_He said, "Peter Pan, that's what they call me,_  
_I promise that you'll never be lonely."  
And ever since that day…_

**THE SHADOW**

The day that changes his life is a Thursday.

It's a day that's only ever remarkable because the next is Friday, and then comes the weekend.

But not this one.

This Thursday is the beginning of everything, but he doesn't know that yet.

Instead, he's watching the second hand of the clock mark the passing of time, waiting for the next. And the next. And the next.

"Dude, are you even listening to me?"

Peter blinks. Blinks again. "Yes." Ned raises an eyebrow. "No."

_"Peter."_

"I'm sorry!" Peter stabs the straw into his juicebox with more force than required, the coated cardboard losing its shape. "Sorry. I uh, I didn't sleep well."

Ned finishes chewing his lukewarm pasta. "I would accept that excuse if you ever slept well."

Peter grimaces. Ned watches him fiddle with the stalk of his apple.

"'Sup, dorks." Michelle Jones falls into a seat a few spaces away, simultaneously dropping her bag on the table and collecting a book from inside. She kicks her feet up onto the chair beside him, her face disappearing behind the green hardback.

Ned and Peter stare at her, mouths gaping.

The reason is this: While Michelle had lurked at their table for a while in sophomore year, it's the first time she's been here in two years.

"Hey, Michelle," Ned says slowly, getting over his surprise quicker than Peter. He regards her suspiciously.

Michelle does not look up from her page as she snags his bag of carrot sticks.

"Hey!" Ned protests, despite having already offered them to Peter earlier. "What gives?"

"I'm hungry." Michelle produces a sleeve of cookies seemingly from thin-air, placing them in front of her but angled forward, like a silent offer. "Eating is a necessary function of the human experience to fuel the body in all aspects, including growth, cellular regeneration -"

"I'm stealing these," Ned says, pulling the packet closer. Michelle snaps a piece of carrot in half with her teeth, and her lack of objection makes his best friend increasingly nervous. "Are these poisoned?"

Michelle sighs loudly, the book landing on the tabletop with a heavy thump. "Yes, Edward. I woke up today and thought, you know what would be fun? Taking out two of my classmates right before graduation."

When Ned still looks doubtful, Peter grabs a cookie and pops it whole into his mouth.

(They're his favourite, and he can't resist. If the last thing he ever tastes is this, it's well worth the ending.)

He doesn't begin to froth at the mouth, so Ned dives in the packet and resumes his discussion of… Something. Peter's still not entirely sure what he's talking about.

He looks back to the clock. Fifteen minutes left until the bell.

The ticking of time no longer seems to be sufficient, so his eyes drift around the room.

Even if he hadn't just spent two years with this new graduating class, he'd be able to identify them from the crowds congregating in the cafeteria. It's like they're vibrating at a different frequency, or perhaps more saturated in colour than the monotonous tones of those still destined to be trapped here another year.

There's three weeks left of high school. Three weeks and then they're done: Just like that.

Do people look at him and see a boy drenched in the rainbow? Or, perhaps, the bland, dreary tones of an overcast day at the end of Winter?

Do they see the lie or the truth?

Something moves in his peripheral vision, and when he turns he sees Michelle shifting in her chair. Her eyes flicker from her book to Peter, skittering away when she finds him already looking. She crosses her ankles, looks at him again, then puts her book facedown in her lap.

“You look like shit, Parker,” she finally says, “Did you guys stay up playing something overtly violent last night or…?”

He doesn't really know what kind of answer to give, but Ned jumps to his defense - something he's been doing a lot of since losing the role of oldest brother, always so protective of him.

“Why are you being nice to us?” Ned asks, squinting, skipping over how she’d guessed their evening plans so easily.

Michelle shrugs, twirling the last carrot stick between her slender fingers. “I am nice.”

“You’re a lot of things, but nice isn’t one of them.”

“Ned, did you order the special edition discs yet?” Peter asks when he sees Michelle’s mouth downturn at his comment. Ned shakes his head, sufficiently distracted. “Dude, come on; the plan!”

Ned happily chats about their month long plan to watch every franchise worth bingeing, a ridiculous summer pursuit they’ve been planning since freshman year - it had started as a joke but now it's an excuse to be together, to enjoy the last of their time as a pair before Ned packs up and goes to college hundreds of miles away.

Michelle leaves wordlessly after a few minutes, but he doesn’t think much of it until he’s at his locker later on, grabbing his Chemistry textbook. It's dog-eared and falling apart, but it doesn't matter; there's only three weeks left of school. Ever.

He's fine. Dealing with it appropriately.

No existential sense of dread and foreboding here.

"Hey, loser. I have a proposition for you."

Peter flinches in that way he always does when something hasn't been picked up by his heightened senses - that is, he flails and stumbles. A lot of the time this involves the girl beside him.

Her expression is completely blank, except for the arched eyebrow that indicates he's already taking too much time to answer her.

"God, Michelle, way to sneak up on someone." Peter closes his locker quickly to hide the mess inside and leans against it. The eyebrow rises higher. "What's up?"

"Proposition. For. You." She rolls her eyes. "Are you in?"

"I can't agree until I know what you're proposing."

Michelle looks irritated with him. "Part A of the proposition is for you to skip Chemistry."

Even though there's three weeks left and the classes are basically useless, he still promised his Aunt May that he'd go to all of his classes this year after… Well. There's only so many field trips you can skip out on before your guardian puts her foot down.

"What's Part B?" he asks anyway.

"That requires you to enact Part A."

"Can't you just tell me Part B after school, therefore keeping me out of trouble with my Aunt?"

"Nope." She smirks. "Only through your willingness to enact Part A can you unlock Part B."

All of this A and B stuff is giving him a headache. He rubs his forehead and considers it for about four seconds, because really, what else does he have to do? _Learn something?_ Please.

"Okay, I'm in. Where are we going?"

_“Forget them Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you'll never, never have to worry about grown up things again.”_

**COME AWAY, COME AWAY!**

They end up in the library. Not really worth skipping Chemistry for, but then he knows this is a sacred place for Michelle.

Not that he knows much else about her, though - could probably count the facts on one hand: She prefers to be alone, she's dazzlingly smart and ran their decathlon team like a well-oiled machine. She likes reading and sketching. He knows she was Blipped, and that she appeared to be about as fazed by that as they all were by Flash continuing to be as much of an asshole as he was before Thanos -

That… That's still a sore spot. Better to move his thoughts on quickly.

But Michelle has been more secluded since. She stopped sitting at the end of their table, her sporadic commentary not something he and Ned realised they would miss until it was gone. She doesn't even voluntarily go to detention anymore. She's become somewhat of an enigma, though since everything that happened he's not had much energy to try and solve it.

Michelle sits on the opposite side of the table to him, hoisting her heavy bag onto the chair beside her. From inside, she pulls out the book from earlier. When he looks closer, he sees the title.

"You're reading the original Peter Pan?" he asks, just a little (a lot) impressed.

Michelle says nothing, stares stoically at him until he shifts uncomfortably.

"Are you going to tell me your proposition or…?"

She stares a touch longer, her cheek twitching like she's enjoying his discomfort, then relents. "I think we should go somewhere."

"We? As in, us? Like, together?"

"I don't see anyone else here." She rolls her eyes. "Yes, I mean you. And me."

He's quiet for a very, very long moment. "Are you… asking me out?"

_"No."_

Peter tries to not be completely devastated at the level of disgust in that single word. Surely he's not that bad a prospective date?

He pulls himself together and mulls over her words again. He'd asked the wrong question, clearly, so he tries to find the right one. "Go where?"

"Away."

Peter can only stare at her incredulously. What does she mean, 'away'? They're just about to graduate. Plus, they're barely even friends. Half the time when he passes her in the hallway, she flips him off instead of smiling back. The other half she just flat-out ignores him. What could she possibly want to do with him?

"Can y - Can you be more specific?" Peter's fingers tap a quick rhythm against the table, his other hand sticking to the cheap laminate. Michelle is perfectly still, her book forgotten, arms crossed as she watches him fidget.

"No. Just... Away. Take off and see the world. That kind of away." He can hear her heel bumping into the table leg, over and over, as she fails to make direct eye contact.

"Like… a vacation?"

"Not exactly," she hedges, and Peter all of a sudden goes pale.

 _No._ Surely not.

"You mean, _run away?_ What are you - Are you serious right now? You want to _run away?!_ Why would you possibly want to -"

"Would you, please, shut up?" she hisses at him, leaning forward like she's panicking, and he realises he'd gone from quiet, appropriate library level of talking to a level of screeching that possibly only dogs could here.

"I'm not suggesting running away," she says exasperatedly, hands waving around in a way that was more like him than her, "It's more… It's half road trip, half…"

"Running away?"

She snarkily pokes her tongue out at him. "You haven't said no."

"I assumed that was implied with the very minor freak out at your proposition."

"Okay." Michelle stands up and shrugs. "Bye."

She's walking away, the shiny letters of his name on her book glinting in the overheard lights, a tension in her shoulders that contradicts the easy tempo of her steps, getting further and further away.

The anxiety crashes into his chest a little heavier than usual, stealing his breath.

Michelle is smart - not just clever but _smart_ , and for some reason she'd made a choice to come to him with this preposterous plan of doing something really stupid. He wants to know why; he wants to know _more_. Even though entertaining the notion is ridiculous, dangerous, like a temptation so specific that it's designed just for him - Peter Parker, nearly 19 years old, enhanced human being with terrible mental wellbeing.

"Wait! Don't go. Just… Don't go."

Michelle turns around, a smirk lighting up her eyes. "You're interested. Excellent."

He's not. He has no reason to be. His life isn't that bad; he has his Aunt May and Ned, and he likes to visit Morgan on the second weekend of the month and she'll be upset if he doesn't show up to let her demolish him at Mario Kart again. He's got plans for that epic movie marathon with Ned; Star Wars (because it's amazing), Lord of the Rings (to mock it), Harry Potter (for nostalgia), all in one go, right after graduation.

Graduation! And prom. And college, eventually, probably. He hasn't got it figured out yet, opted to take a year out, but that's almost _definitely_ the plan. All he has to do is some major mental health overhaul. That shouldn't be too difficult. Little bit of nightmare solving, a smidge of fixing those damn anxiety attacks, easing some of the PTSD left over from -

Oops, lets not let that get out of hand.

Michelle's smirk fades, her brow furrows, and she sits back down, this time beside him. Her warmth is oddly comforting and he closes his eyes, letting her presence wash away the tightness in his lungs.

When he looks at her again she's staring at her book without reading it, her free hand lying next to his on the table. She's looped their pinkie fingers together; he can feel the jagged edge of her nail against his knuckle. He's never noticed that she bit them before.

"I-I-I didn't say I was interested," he says, as though the last few seconds didn't occur, "I just, I have some questions."

Her smile is small but genuine, withdrawing her hand to reach for a slip of paper in her top pocket.

"Meet me here at 5. I'll bring the binder."

***

The address is for a tiny, hole-in-the-wall café, and that night they formulate a plan.

He feels dizzy with this sudden opportunity to press eject on his life; to be who ever he wants to be, where ever he wants to be it. It seems too ridiculous to be true, like Michelle will come to his locker tomorrow and announce he's on the revival of that old show with Ashton Kutcher.

But then he looks at her, and the crease between her eyebrows shows just how serious she is as she lays out the remarkable amount of information she's already collected - how long has she been planning this exactly? There's different coloured tabs and leaflets and print outs, some stained with mug rings and charcoal fingerprints, highlighted in pastel shades of green and blue.

Only when his Aunt has called three times do they leave. Michelle complains but ultimately allows him to walk her home.

_“A moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in.”_

**THE CHILDREN ARE CARRIED OFF**

He writes three letters.

One for Morgan, promising to send her postcards and chocolates, and could her mother work out some kind of sub for Spiderman while he's gone? One for Ned, telling him he'll be back in time for their movie marathon before he goes to MIT, though it'll probably have to be more of a weekend thing. Maybe they could skip one of the franchises? Ned will probably be more outraged by that than by his disappearance, but that's likely a good thing for him.

The last one is for Aunt May, which he spends twice as long on trying to articulate why the hell he has made this ridiculous decision, and that he hasn't really run away; he's honestly fine, and to call him any time, but also he's an adult now and needs to make his own decisions, which apparently include chickening out of talking to her about this first and instead just sneaking out on prom night.

She's probably going to kill him. He deserves it.

***

So. Prom night.

May helps him get ready, fusses over his hair and the tie she got him as an early birthday present.

Guilt rolls in his stomach, but this way is probably for the best. Still, he knows how angry she's going to be; how much she's going to yell and scream and cry when she finds his letter and calls him.

She drives him to the school, and he gives her one last extended but too short hug. When she lets him go, she strokes a hand fondly over the lapel of his jacket and he walks towards the school until he hears her drive away to work. Then, he makes his way back to the road and around the corner, where he finds Michelle leaning against the hood of his car.

The car seemed completely ridiculous at the time, but Pepper had insisted on it as a present for his 18th birthday, talking about how he was going to take the world by storm, and to do that he needed transportation.

So really, he's just following her advice.

That's his justification for it, anyway.

By her feet, there's two coolers and a large suitcase, and she's wrapped in a thick jumper with the hood covering most of her face despite the warmth lingering in the summer night air. When he reaches her, she pulls the headphones out of her ears and gives him a tight smile.

He wonders if she has that feeling in her gut too, like a lion trying to break free of its cage.

"Hey, dork. You didn't have to dress up for little ol' me."

Peter brushes a hand down his Uncle's favourite suit. "You should always dress appropriately for momentous occasions. Like prom, or -"

"- Running away?" she teases, straightening up, then pointing to the cool boxes. "I've got about a week of supplies for a normal person, so I think we'll make it at least the night with these."

"Only one suitcase?" he questions. "You know the plan is for three months, right?"

She shrugs. "I don't have much anyway. I'll be fine."

Her answer makes him frown, but before he can comment she's taking the keys from his hand and putting her suitcase in the back with his own three, the coolers on the back seat.

He sheds his blazer and the tie, loosens the buttons on his shirt, and gets behind the wheel. Michelle slides into the passenger seat, and this is it - this is the moment that counts. This is the moment they can't turn back from.

He puts the key into the ignition, turns it, and they speed off into the night.

_“Come with me where dreams are born and time is never planned.”_


	2. The Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... I am so floored. It's only the third day and the things I have seen are just... I have no words. I love it all, even though I'm super behind on seeing it all because of cramming to get my fics done but I’m working on it!
> 
> Tumblr ate my Soulmate admission so please go and check it out, let me know what you think. There's another part to it coming for Day 5 that brings more Golden Trio goodness that I am missing putting in this pic (right now, the next bit has more Ned I promise)
> 
> Also a quick trigger warning for an anxiety attack about halfway through. Be kind to yourself: don’t read it if you’re not sure you can!

" _Run_ , _run, lost boy," they say to me,_  
_Away from all of reality._  
_Neverland is home to lost boys like me,_  
_And lost boys like me are free…_  
_He sprinkled me in pixie dust and told me to believe,_  
_Believe in him and believe in me._  
_Together we will fly away in a cloud of green,_  
_To your beautiful destiny._  
_As we soared above the town that never loved me,_  
_I realized I finally had a family._  
_Soon enough we reached Neverland._  
_Peacefully my feet hit the sand._  
_And ever since that day…_

**  
THE FLIGHT**

They're an hour into the trip, and he's about ten seconds away from turning around.

"Michelle, is there any chance we can listen to something, uh, else?"

"What, you don't like listening to the _The_ _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ on audiobook?" When he makes an awkward, "Uhh," sound in response, she barks out a laugh. "Thank God, I was wondering how long it would take you."

He looks at her in horror. "You mean this whole time we could have been listening to the amazing road trip playlist I made us?"

"No, absolutely not," she deadpans, then, "Eyes on the road, please."

"What's wrong with my playlist? You don't even know what's on there!"

" _You_ made it. It has to be terrible." She picks up her phone and taps away for a few moments, before Usher fills the car and she glares at him. "Don't you dare laugh."

He never intended to. Instead, he starts to sing along, and she rolls her eyes at his tone-deaf vocals, but by the time the third song plays she's joining in, her voice a little husky and surprisingly nice, and he only laughs then because he thinks this might be one of those perfect moments that people always bang on about.

A comfortable silence eventually settles over the pair, Michelle switching the music to something more fitting for the mood as they see signs for the state line. There's a large thermos of coffee in her hands to help them get through the night, but he thinks she might be napping anyway, her forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window.

***

"Should we change our names?" she asks at hour three, now awake. The jumper has been shed only for her to keep fiddling with the heat, ignoring her phone screen that's been lighting up like a Christmas tree for fifteen minutes now.

"Is that really necessary?"

"We don't want the FBI tracking us down too quickly."

Peter's eyes widen. "You think that'll actually happen?"

"No, we're not minors anymore. And we left notes specifically telling those who need to know that we're just going on a trip."

"What if they think we were kidnapped, and forced to write those notes?"

"Why would kidnappers make us write notes? They would want people to be worried, so they can get their money." Michelle kicks her feet up on the dash. "Parker. Eyes. Road."

"Human trafficking?"

"We've got phones, dumbass. They can call us."

"True." In his rear view, he sees the last lights of New York finally flicker out of sight. "You could just be MJ."

It's been a while since he's called her that, her offer of a nickname so long ago now, before the universe fell apart and they both died. He never really had the chance to adjust to it and after the Blip, she'd withdrawn and he'd been trying to cope. It tastes a little foreign on his tongue now, but she just leans forward to grab the packet of sour candies, unbothered.

"So if I'm MJ, you're, what, PP?" She snorts at the childish joke. "That wouldn't work. Plus, the decathalon team already knows me as MJ."

He frowns. He didn't know others had maintained the moniker.

"Maybe we can keep the initials, and change the name. You could be… Marie Jeffreys."

Michelle scoffs. "Like our English Lit teacher? No thanks."

"What about Mary something?"

"No, that's an old name. It was my grandmother's name." She sighs, holding out some of the candy in her palm for him to take. "You're right. It's not necessary. Plus it's a lot of hassle."

"Okay." He glances over to her, something sad in the curve of her mouth as she gazes out at the world rushing by. "Plus there's not that many 'P' names for me anyway."

She swivels to face him, dark eyes glinting with a challenge as she counts them off on her fingers. "Phil. Pablo. Prospero -"

"- Prospero?"

"Percy."

"Ew."

"Patrick. Phineas."

"And you can be Ferb?"

"Pascal. Perry. Piper. Presley. Parker - wait."

"Great idea. We could just swap our names around, no one would ever guess. Jones Michelle and Parker Peter."

When she laughs, he can see all of her teeth as she throws her head back. He thinks this may be the first genuine laugh he's ever heard from her, and he feels pleased with himself for bringing it about.

"Speaking of things beginning with P, I need one," he says when she calms down.

She nods. "And now I want pizza."

He finds a chain pizza restaurant at the next junction and they eat as much as they can for $20. Michelle doesn't get her book out and Peter lets her pinch his fries. They make a game of guessing the shenanigans their classmates have gotten up while they've been driving, and when he throws his napkin onto the pile of empty containers in the middle of their table, his stomach is full and warm from the way she makes him laugh.

They get back in the car, stars twinkling above them. She settles further back in the chair and he contents himself with watching the empty roads go by, Michelle's even breathing his soundtrack as she sleeps beside him.

  
  


_“I'll teach you how to jump on the wind's back, and then away we go.”_

**THE LITTLE HOUSE**

Peter is delirious and lying on their motel bed when Michelle comes out of the bathroom, hair tied up to keep it dry, red flannel pyjamas that hover just above her ankles. She catches his eyes and her smile is nervous, and he knows it's because of The Bed Situation.

During their planning process, they had agreed to keep costs down in any way they could, and often that was going to mean sharing a bed instead of springing for two. When they'd entered the room he'd offered to sleep on the floor, and she'd snapped at him, saying, "What, are you trying to protect my virtue or something? It's not that big of a deal, we both need to sleep."

So that's where he is, scratching his chest from the weird awkward tension.

Not too long ago he'd gotten off the phone with May, who had returned from work to find his letter, and promptly screamed at him for twenty minutes and cried for ten. It'd been about as awful as he'd expected, but in the end she seemed to somewhat accept it.

It's late morning, but they drove all night to maximise their distance and he's crashing hard from the caffeine. They're just outside of Columbus, Ohio, which May had not been at all happy about because she's always talked about seeing the old Victorian homes around Goodale Park. Michelle had kept herself busy in the bathroom during his phone call, and now she smells of coconut and lavender and her face is a bit shiny from whatever skincare regime she follows. She takes her phone out of her backpack, scowls at the screen, and Peter says, "If you need me to go for a bit so you can call… whoever that is back, I don't mind."

"No, it's fine," she mutters as she types away for a few minutes, her demeanour getting darker and stormier with every returning ping.

Eventually, she huffs and climbs onto the mattress, sits towards the foot of the bed so she's looking right at him. He adjusts himself so he's sitting up a bit more, and finally asks the question that's been bugging him for weeks.

"So, uh, I've been meaning to ask you… Why did you ask me to come with you? You could have asked anyone. You could have gone alone - I always thought you liked being alone. Why me?"

She shrugs and picks at a loose thread on her pyjama sleeve. "You have a car."

"Flash has a car."

"Flash is infinitely more hassle to run away with."

He chuckles, because: true. She looks up at the noise and some of the tension leaves her shoulders.

"Plenty of other, less annoying people have cars."

"I knew you'd cave the fastest."

His mouth opens and closes indignantly. Harsh. But also possibly true. "How did you know I have a car?"

Michelle quirks an eyebrow at him, then stretches her long legs out so her feet are tucked beneath her pillow. "You nerded out with Ned over it for two weeks. You two are not quiet or subtle."

Well. Okay. It wasn't… quite that long. Also, what? Has she been listening to their conversations? All that time they just thought she was too busy reading, could she… Could she know? Did she know about Spiderman too?

Michelle must see his brain shutting down with its current train of thought, because she says, "Relax, idiot. Your conversations are far too boring for me to listen to. You were just particularly loud about the car."

"Ned gets very excited over basically anything."

"How do you even have a car anyway? Especially one as nice as that. I thought it was just you and your Aunt."

"Yeah, it is. It was a present from… Extended family."

Michelle grunts. "Must be some extended family."

"You have no idea," he exhales, and then Michelle is picking up her book and the conversation is clearly over. Peter checks his phone again, winces at the twenty sixth message from his best friend. He can deal with that later. For now, he sleeps.

***

When Peter wakes up, it's four in the afternoon and Michelle is still reading beside him, though her hair looks a little sleep rumpled and there's pillow creases on her cheek. She'd slept on and off during their journey here so he's not surprised to see her awake, but she's chosen to stay in the bed next to him instead of the big chair in the corner.

As he stretches out the stiffness in his legs, MJ says, “Good, you’re awake. Your partner-in-lame has been calling. A lot.”

Peter rubs sleep out of his eyes and reaches for where he’d put his phone on charge this morning. Sure enough, there’s 19 missed calls from Ned and a bunch of messages demanding he call ASAP.

Peter rolls out of the bed to use the bathroom, then steps out into the motel walkway to call Ned. He answers on the first ring.

“I can’t believe you ran away without me, dude. That’s Best Friendship 101: Do all dumb shit together.”

“Hello Ned, I’m good thanks, how are you?” Peter says drily. “And I didn’t run away. I’m travelling.”

“If you have to do it secretly, it’s running away. What the hell, Peter? You and MJ? Have you been keeping something from me? Orla swears they saw you on a date last week, and Susan Lang says you’ve been hooking up for months now -“

“What? Ned, no! That’s ridiculous! How do they even know?”

"Dude, the whole senior class is going crazy! They think the two of you eloped. How wild is that?! Wait, you didn't get married did you? I'm gonna be so pissed if you got married without me as your best man -"

Peter rolls his eyes. Ned and his priorities. “Ned, I’d never get married without you, bud. Or Aunt May.”

“Okay, good.” There’s a short pause where Peter thinks he can actually hear Ned thinking.

“Also, a crucial point here: MJ and I are definitely not together. In any way other than being physically together. Not like - I mean in the same place. She had a proposal, and I accepted. That’s it.”

Ned clears his throat, speaks at a lower volume. “…That sounds suspiciously like getting married.”

“I’m not getting married!” The curtain twitches, Michelle peering out at him with a bewildered expression. Peter gives her a fake smile and presses the receiver closer to his mouth. “MJ and I are just friends. Barely. Stop bringing up marriage.”

“Stop running away without forewarning me,” Ned counters. “Speaking of, are you gonna give me some more details about that or what? Pretty sure I deserve them, since you skipped Prom and probably won’t be at graduation with me.”

Peter sighs. “I’m sorry, Ned. I… I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like one minute MJ is making the suggestion, and the next, we’re at this motel and we’ve been driving all night and it’s… good. It’s good. I feel like I can breathe again.”

This pause goes on longer, so long that Peter checks his signal, before he hears his best friend exhale heavily. “Okay. I don’t completely get it, but I support you. But I want updates, every week! And gifts. And you’re buying the pizza for our movie marathon when you come back.”

Peter smiles into the phone. “Absolutely.”

The call soon ends, and Peter walks back into their room to find Michelle hovering at the foot of the bed, her own phone clutched in her hand, now dressed in the jeans from last night and a tshirt with a faded print. At his entrance, she looks up and tucks the phone into her pocket, and her expression eases into her usual deadpan.

“How’s Dork Number 1?”

“Fine.” Peter raps his phone against his palm, eyes bouncing around the room. “The senior class thinks we’ve eloped.”

Michelle smirks. “Awesome.” Then she stammers, “I-I mean, of all the rumours I expected -“

“You expected rumours?”

“We may not have been the most ‘popular’ amongst our classmates, but they’ll definitely still enjoy gossiping about anything.”

Peter shrugs. “Fair.”

"It's a bit late for the museum but I was gonna head over to Port Columbus to see the statue of Geraldine Mock." Michelle's back straightens and she gets that look on her face she always got in decathalon when she was about to drop some unexpected knowledge on them. "She was the first female to fly solo around the world in 1964, and she did it -"

"- All in a skirt." Peter smiles. "It was in the binder."

Michelle presses her lips together, scuffing her toe against the carpet. "Oh cool, you read it. Maybe you could join me, then? If you want to. It's gonna be kind of a long trip and you just did all that driving and -"

"Are you kidding? The only thing I'm looking forward to more than her statue is seeing the fountain! Of course I'm coming!"

***

"Do you trust me?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Well can you try, for five minutes?"

"This is gonna take five minutes?!"

"MJ, I promise, you're going to love it. Trust me."

"You're talking a lot about trust without giving me a reason to. Honestly it's just making me even more determined not to do it."

"I'm not asking you to punch in the nuclear codes; it's just popping candy!"

***

A week passes smoothly. Peter and Michelle explore the city, sometimes together and sometimes apart. They move on to Michigan; go to the park one day and the Detroit Institute of the Arts another.

There's a funfair and Peter captures a picture of Michelle on the carousel, right after she’d rolled her eyes at his dorky attempts to beat her horse in a race, when she had laughed and her eyes had sparkled and the sun made her hair shine. He likes her laugh. It looks good on her.

So far Peter has learned three new things about Michelle Jones. First, she snores. Only if she’s deep asleep, and even then only if she’s on her back, but he doesn’t mind it too much. It’s a cute snore, or as cute as a snore can possibly be while still being a snore, like a snuggling noise through her nose. He hasn’t commented on it. He think she’d kick him in the shins if he did.

Second fact. Half of Michelle’s suitcase is books, and when she finishes them, she donates them and buys a replacement. Her reading interests cover every genre, and he saw a GoodReads notification on her phone once, so late that night he’d spent an hour searching review sections of the books he’d seen her read, finally identifying her account. Her reviews are concise, scathing where necessary and well written. He wants to compliment them, but she’s probably punch him for invasion of privacy.

And the third. Michelle has a secret.

Peter is a big talker; he enjoys rambling on about anything that comes to mind, but any innocent questioning about Michelle is Uno Reverse Carded and suddenly he’s talking about himself again. Her phone rings a lot, but she never answers. The most he’s seen of her communicating with her life back home is scowling at the screen whenever it has the nerve to buzz at her. But as she wrinkles her nose at the notion of carbonated drinks, he realises he knows next to nothing about Michelle outside of their shared interest in academics, and his three new discoveries.

Again, he hasn’t commented on it, for aforementioned reasons.

  
  


_“All are keeping a sharp look-out in front, but none suspects that the danger may be creeping up from behind.”_

**WENDY'S STORY**

Michelle slamming the door behind her wakes him up.

“Hey, loser,” she calls as she perches on the end of the bed, throwing a paper bag onto his pillow. “You drool in your sleep.”

He rubs his eyes, yawning. When his vision clears she looks tired, clinging to the coffee cup in her hands. He looks at the alarm clock: nearly 7am. “Why are you up so early?”

“Habit,” she says with a shrug, but she looks uneasy. He frowns but before he can ask, she thrusts a reusable cup in his face. “Come on, lazy bones. We need to get a move on.”

“What for?” He sits up, breathing in the smell of caffeine, taking the bag from beside him and rooting around until he finds a blueberry muffin, his favourite.

She snatches the bag from his grip and pulls out a croissant. When she bites into it, flakes of pastry rain down into her lap. ”I want to go to the beach.”

“The beach?”

“Yes, the beach.”

He watches her with interest as she eats her pastry, sipping his coffee, stretching his arms of the last remnants of sleep. “I didn’t expect you to suggest the beach. You don’t seem the type.”

She tilts her head. “I don’t seem the type to enjoy nature?”

“Uhh…” Peter blanches. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Best you don’t. Get dressed, let’s go.”

***

On the ninth day, it rains. Neither of them feel like going out in it, so Michelle sits in the window with a little sketchpad and a blanket and the last of their food supply, and Peter searches the internet for some other cool places for them to visit before they move on to Indiana. Michelle has shot down most of his suggestions, but he perseveres.

He’s halfway through an article about the Henry Ford Museum when Michelle huffs, clearly uncomfortable, and instead throws herself onto the bed, pressing the pencil into the page a little harder. The blanket has slipped and Peter feels a jolt of recognition at the hoodie that swaddles her. It’s maroon with a white zip and a coffee stain on the right sleeve, from when Aunt May had made him laugh so hard with her walrus impression that the hot beverage came out of his nose. He’s been looking for it all day; had assumed he’d left it in the last motel, or maybe in the car.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he says dumbly.

“It was cold,” she says casually, like it’s not in any way a big deal, except he heard the way her breath hitched at his accusation even though she’s on the other side of the room.

“Oh.” He sounds completely stupid at this point. “Okay.”

He looks back to his phone and tries to regain his focus, but struggles. He feels eyes on him, and looks up to see Michelle look away, biting at her bottom lip. He tries not to smile, looks down again, cursing the burning he feels in his cheeks.

His phone rings, grabbing both of their attentions. Ned’s contorted face fills the screen. Peter grins and accepts the video call, laughing at the graduation cap squashed onto his head.

“We did it!” Ned cheers loudly. “We graduated!”

Peter hoots and hollers, moves to the bed to let Michelle see as Ned swivels the phone around the crowd so quickly it blurs, talking about how Flash hadn’t gone commando under his gown after all, and how Betty gave a great speech in Michelle’s place (because of course Michelle was valedictorian) and that Brad Davis had tripped up the stairs and Ned was pretty sure he was drunk. Peter drinks it all in but Michelle only glances up occasionally, gives a tight smile. Ned hangs up quickly when his parents approach, and Peter looks over to the girl who hasn’t made a single mark since the call began. She’s tugging on a loose curl of hair, her right foot twitching at the end of the bed.

“You okay?” he asks her quietly.

Michelle remains still for a moment, her lips parting and closing as she struggles to find the words. Finally, she says, “Do you regret…this? Coming with me?”

Peter frowns. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You should have spent today graduating with Ned, and all the other idiots we’ve been trapped with at that school. I haven’t had the intention of going to my graduation since the Blip, but… Instead we’ve spent today here. Doing nothing.”

Peter moves closer and gently tugs her sketchpad away so he can lay a hand over the coffee stain covering her wrist. “I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything, if that’s what you mean. I knew what this trip was going to entail. I knew I’d miss graduation. Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about it being today until Ned called.”

Michelle stares into his eyes, and he tries not to focus on how he can see every fleck of gold and brown in the warm lamplight. She seems to find whatever she’s looking for because she tucks the pencil behind her ear and pulls herself up so she's sitting on her knees. “Maybe we should celebrate anyway.”

***

This is how Peter learns the fourth Michelle Jones fact: she has a fake ID.

(When? How? _Why?_ He has so many questions. He needs to find a way to get her open up.)

Ninety minutes later, they’re on the floor, backs pressed against the foot of the door, a cheap bottle of vodka sitting between them. His head feels light and floaty and his fingers tingle pleasantly, and there’s a fuzziness to everything he can see. Michelle has her long legs stretched out, a pair of his socks sagging around her thin ankles. Her hair is down and long and tickles his arm, and she’s telling him a story he’s already forgotten, something about Ned and freshman year and a banana.

He laughs anyway, wonders what Ned is doing right now. Probably at dinner with his parents. Did they eat out specially? Or did Ned’s mum cook a big family dinner, just like she does once a month that he always tries to attend because after the Blip, she’d cupped his cheek and said, “ _ke keiki ua ʻoki ʻia_.” Her malasada is his favourite. Damn, he could go for some of that right now.

Peter jolts back to reality when a finger pokes his upper arm, someone saying his name.

“Peter, are you listening to me?” She sounds a little bit annoyed, so he nods quickly and takes another long sip from the bottle, the burning down his throat unpleasant but dissipating quickly.

“Uh-huh. Yup. Totally.” He pats his stomach. “I’m hungry. We should get snacks.”

Michelle seems unimpressed. “You’re always hungry,” she complains, but she digs into the paper bag that had once stored the vodka and pulls out gummy bears. He grabs them eagerly and rips open the bag, stuffing four in his mouth at once.

He tries to thank her through his full mouth, and she waves him off with a wrinkle of her nose. Michelle grabs the half empty bottle and takes three sips, one small and two drawn out. She roots through the slippery packet and resurfaces with a handful of green bears.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispers, decapitating a bear with her teeth. He nods eagerly. “This is the first time I’ve been drunk.”

“Can I tell _you_ a secret?” He giggles, because MJ is cute when she’s drunk, her shoulders slack, the tension from her jaw fading even as he watches her. He straightens his legs and nudges her ankle with his bare toes. “This is my first time too! I didn’t even think I _could_ get drunk!”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She snorts. “Clearly you’re a lightweight. Not difficult to get you drunk.”

He presses his lips together, because the last thing he needs is to drunkenly let slip his alternate identity. Michelle breathes steadily beside him, scratching her bitten nail against a stain on her sweatpants.

"The first time I drank, I chugged so much beer that I immediately threw up."

She snorts again, and Peter sighs. He knows this story: Ned had told him that at one of Flash's parties junior year, Cindy was chugging beer on a dare and was struggling. Michelle had snatched what was left and downed it all in one go, flipping everyone off at the same time.

But then Peter remembers his first drink. The two fingers of scotch Steve Rogers had pressed into his hand after Tony’s funeral, the silent toast they’d had. Peter had sipped it and immediately gagged, and Steve had laughed, said, "Don't worry, kid, you'll get there." Peter had laughed at the absurdity of it all - Captain America himself, supplying alcohol to a minor.

For just a second, Peter forgot. For one blissful moment, Peter didn’t see the life leave Tony’s body on a constant repeat in his head, didn’t feel the too-familiar ache in his chest.

Then he'd remembered, and he’d started to cry.

He doesn’t tell her all of that. Instead, he says, “Yeah, well, beer sucks.”

***

Ned sends him a link to a Twitter thread, questioning the lack of Spiderman sightings with a remarkable amount of evidence.

He tries not to think of the trunk of suits, hidden away in a little apartment in New York.

***

"…so Rey manages to find the Millenium Falcon on Jakku and Han Solo is like, that junkyard?! And Finn is - oh! Hi! Who's this?!"

"…"

"Aren't you just the cutest? What's your name, huh? Five months old! Wow! Look at _you!_ So clever! Oh you like belly scratches, huh? You like belly scratches!"

"…"

"So anyway, in the third installment -"

"Look Peter, a squirrel!"

"Where?!"

"…"

"Are you messing with me?"

"Little bit. Just trying to gauge who's the bigger puppy; that actual puppy you dropped everything for, or you."

"What?! Th-that is - how dare you - I can't -"

"Here, Peter, go fetch!"

"-Well of _course_ I'm going to go and get my phone, but this is cruel and quite honestly, slander -"

"Aw, such a good boy. Peter want a treat? A special treat for a good boy!"

"No I do not w… Is that a Hershey's bar?"

***

When Michelle had said she didn't need much in the way of possessions, he hadn't realised she meant she'd just take his.

Over the next two weeks, she has at least one item of his clothing on a day. One Monday, she's posing in front of the Art Institute of Chicago when he spots a science pun peaking out of the gap of her blazer. Wednesday he realises it's his jeans tucked into her combat boots as they walk around the DuSable Museum of African American History. At the weekend, he can't really spot anything on her person that doesn't belong to him.

He decides to bring it up over a breakfast of cheap pastries and cheaper coffee.

"Did you always intend to steal my clothing on this trip, or is that just an inevitable factor of spending all our time together for the past month?"

To anyone else without his heightened senses, Michelle would appear as stoic as ever, taking a lengthy sip from her chipped mug. But Peter sees the muscles of her neck contract as she swallows, faintly hears her heart beat a little quicker. She puts down the mug and narrows her dark eyes at him.

"That's a pretty big accusation for someone currently wearing my watch."

"Because you lost mine at the Skydeck."

"My point still stands." Michelle steals a piece of his bagel and picks up her pencil again, but Peter forges on.

"That's my jacket."

Michelle glances down at herself. "I was wondering why the sleeves were too short."

"And I watched you take those socks from my suitcase."

Her cheek twitches, eyes sparkling. "Spiderman socks would only ruin what little respect people might attribute to you."

"Ned gave them to me." He blushes, _goddamnit stop doing that_.

"Nerd," she snorts. She takes another sip of her coffee - if you can even call it that after the outrageous amount of sugar she poured into it - and her next exhale is a little heavy. "Do you have a problem with it?"

"No," he replies, "Just curious. You only bought that one bag, and half of it was books."

"That's because I knew you'd pack everything else unnecessary."

"Clothing seems pretty necessary."

Michelle bites her lip, and Peter finds he can't look away from the action. Her mouth is pretty - everything about Michelle is pretty, in a way that he's always known, but it's never been his first adjective to describe her. She's so much more than just her beauty, but he finds himself struck by it now, the early morning sun making her skin glow and casting shadows from her long eyelashes. When he finally manages to look back up at her eyes, she's already watching him, and suddenly their light banter feels heavier, the air more charged.

She blinks, and it's over.

"I needed space for the maps," she says, then stuffs the last of her croissant in her mouth and turns to a new page in her notebook.

***

Facts he knows about Michelle, updated to include the following:

She has a weakness for sugar. A massive, chocolate-in-everything kind of weakness.

She sucks at hiding or resisting this weakness.

She insists on wearing black jeans despite the hot summer days.

Michelle is also passionate. While she's more of a listener on any given day, there are several topics she has a multitude of opinions on that fascinate him. Whether it's politics, or working conditions, or how the yellow gummy bears are unfairly discriminated against even though she only ever eats the green ones, he'd quite happily listen to her take on anything as long as it means he gets to see the fire in her eyes as she talks, or how she ties back her hair like she's about to go to battle, or how her hands dance in the air to emphasise her point. He'd quite happily give up the rest of their touristy plans to just watch her rant for the next six weeks.

(This, he will later realise, is the moment he should have figured it out. Unfortunately, he's too busy purposefully triggering her to give a detailed review of the Sokovia Accords.)

***

“It’s this exit. It’s this exit, Peter -“

“It’s the next one.”

“That was the exit! I’m the one with the map!”

“No, the sign says -“

“When have you ever known me to be wrong.”

“It’s fine, Michelle. It was gonna happen eventually.”

"…"

“I should have taken that exit.”

“Oh my _God_.”

_“You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls.”_

**THE PIRATE SHIP**

It's inevitable, really.

They were going to fight eventually.

The sun is setting on their first night in Montana, and he's spent half an hour scrubbing away two straight days of driving while trying not to listen to Michelle whisper into her phone as she paces their dingy motel room. They've lucked out everywhere they've stayed so far, but this room has mould in the bathroom and stains on the sheets and a crack in the window. Unfortunately, it's all they can afford in a ten mile radius.

His head is pounding from living off of peanut butter sandwiches and too much caffeine. It's a cocktail for disaster, and why he should have known better than to be nosy about her phone call.

He's just curious, that's all. It's the first time he's been aware of her answering her phone, and he wants so badly to understand why she's even doing this in the first place. What could be so bad at home that made her want to run away with him? Who is she avoiding every time she switches her phone to Do Not Disturb? What is she hiding from?

Predictably, it does not go well.

They yell for ten minutes before she grabs her coat and leaves, the door slamming behind her. He's too worked up to follow her, flops down on the lumpy mattress and screams into a pillow. After a moment he gets up and opens the door, expects to find her just outside, or maybe at the car, but he can't see or hear her. He goes back inside and resolves to wait out her tantrum.

She'll be back. She forgot to take a book.

Except time stretches on, and Peter eventually drifts off into a restless sleep.

He's abruptly woken up by a clap of thunder. It's 2am and her side of the bed is still empty.

His heart rate spikes, and Peter rushes to the door, straight down to check-in. A boy about his age monotonously tells him he hasn't seen Michelle before returning to his video game. Peter runs the perimeter of the complex, listens closely for the now-familiar beat of her heart, tries to pick up the scent of her lavender shampoo. The rain begins to pour, and eventually Peter returns to their room, drenched and alone.

The anxiety attack hits him hard. He becomes consumed with a million thoughts of where she could be, what could have happened to her. Has she been hit by a car? Kidnapped? Arrested? There's so few places for her to be at this time of night, and with each new idea of her whereabouts, his thoughts get darker and more hopeless, until his brain is screaming and he can't breathe and it feels like he's trapped under the rubble again, dizzy and desperately searching for oxygen and relief and Michelle and -

Two hours later, there's a knock on the door and Peter is so surprised that he tumbles from where he had been pacing the ceiling, scrambling to the door.

On the other side stands Michelle, drenched and trembling and a takeout bag extended as a peace offering.

"MJ," he whispers, to confirm that she's really there.

He steps towards her, ready to yell about responsibility and personal safety. But her eyes are bloodshot and he realises she's been crying, and his arms yank her into the room and against his chest, where he holds her close and tight and hears the pounding of her heart, smells the lavender lingering on her hair.

She’s back. She’s okay.

" _Never_ do that to me again," he chokes out, stroking a hand down her back. She relaxes against him and hugs him back.

"I didn’t think you would care," she says, the apology thick in her tone. "No one ever does."

***

Something changes, after that.

He wakes up the next day to see Michelle still asleep, lying on her stomach, her hair across her face and tickling his neck. His hand lies on the small of her back, a fingertip grazing the sliver of skin where her (his) shirt has ridden up in the night. It's comfortable. He can't bring himself to pull away.

He falls asleep with the comforting warmth of his friend beside him.

The next day, he wakes to the smell of coffee and bacon and Michelle is in the corner of the room, sketching and glancing up at him with a soft smile.

Day four and he wakes up to her fingers wrapped around his wrist, pressed up against his pulse, eyelids fluttering as she sleeps. He finds out later, after a dinner of fast food and too many cookies that he'd woken her up, on the brink of a nightmare, but had settled after she hummed the Happy Days theme song.

(Happy Days was one of Uncle Ben's favourite shows. He tries to not choke up at that.)

And then, a week after their fight, Michelle slides two opera tickets across the coffee shop table.

She spends an hour in the bathroom - twice as long as usual - and Peter fusses for fifteen minutes over how the collar of his shirt sits under her jacket from prom. He's nervous, which is ridiculous. He's spent nearly every moment of the past six weeks with her, has learned all of her little quirks and mannerisms. He even knows more things _about_ her.

Then Michelle steps out of the bathroom, and he loses his balance, stumbling to lean against the cheap pine wardrobe. She's wearing a dress. A _dress_. It's flowery and flows down to below her knees, and her hair is down and pinned back, and is that lipgloss?

"Wow, uh." Peter tries to quickly pick up his jaw from the floor. "You look really pretty."

She quirks an eyebrow as she grabs her bag. "And therefore I have value?"

"No, no, that's not what I was -"

"I'm messing with you. You look pretty too." She smiles, and he has the strangest feeling in his stomach that makes him feel a little bit nauseous but also like he's floating.

***

They share binoculars and drink vodka from a water bottle and she leans in close to explain what's happening every time he scrunches his nose in confusion (which is a lot.) She smirks at all of his stupid puns and even chuckles at a few of them. When they get back to their room, they watch sitcoms in bed and talk about Ned and Betty's on-and-off-relationship until they pass out at five in the morning.

It's nice.

(It's _great_.)

***

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“You’ve had chocolate sauce on your face for three hours.”

“…what?”

“You ate that ice cream like a three year old and I was annoyed that you stole my cone.”

“You _gave_ me the rest of your cone.”

“I offered it because you ate yours in twenty seconds. I didn’t expect you to say yes.”

“Is that why the guy in the shop gave me such a funny look?”

“Yes.”

“And the girl behind us in the line?”

“Probably.”

“Is that why the security guard was looking at me funny?”

“Uh... No, you were just being stupid.”

***

May smiles at him through the screen, trying to hide the anxiety from her expression. "Hey, sweetie. How are you doing? Are you looking after yourself?"

"I'm good, and yes I am, promise. I ate a whole vegetable today." Peter chuckles so she knows he's (mostly) kidding. "We just got back from the Mesa Falls. Did you know it's over a million years old?! I was about to send you some photos when you called."

"That sounds great, Peter. Though your nose is red; did you forget your SPF?"

Peter looks at himself through the camera, touching gingerly at the skin to feel it's warm. "Oops, must have just forgotten to reapply often enough."

The background blurs as May moves into the kitchen, and he sees her fiddling with something on the stove. "What's that on your arm?"

She says it casually but her expression is anything but. Peter looks down at the black marker that stains his skin in curling, sloping lines. "Oh Michelle finished her sketchbook the other day and we haven't been able to find another one, so apparently I'm the next best thing. She did this yesterday on the drive over, but she used a Sharpie so I'm stuck with it for a bit. It's actually pretty cool. I almost understand why people have tattoos."

By the time he's done talking, May is looking at him with the most excitable round eyes he's ever seen. "Oh my God! Peter! You _like_ her!"

"Like who?"

"MJ!" She gasps, hand covering her mouth. "Now I get why you left. You were following her because you like her!"

"What?! May, that's ridiculous -"

"Peter Benjamin Parker, don't you dare try to lie to me."

He's glad for the sunburn honestly, if only to cover the scarlet red shade of his cheeks.

And - okay. So maybe he has a little bit of a crush. But can you blame him? Michelle's basically been the only person he's interacted with in the last seven weeks, and she sleeps next to him every night, and she's funny and smart and beautiful and is always teaching him something new wherever they go and she does this cute little thing with her -

Heh. See. A _crush_.

"Oh my God, May, any louder and she might _actually_ hear you!" Peter checks their door is still closed from his spot in the car, where he is supposed to be grabbing their bag of laundry. Through the window he can see Michelle towel-drying her hair, scrunching the curls up to her scalp. "It's fine, everything is under control. And I did not _follow_ her. The crush came after."

May raises a stern eyebrow. "Are you being safe? Do I need to be mentally preparing to be a Grandma?"

Peter groans and throws his head back against the headrest. "May! I'm not sleeping with her!"

"It's perfectly natural, Peter. You're both teenagers with certain urges and -"

"Wow is that the time? I definitely have to go, can't miss that ECT session to burn this moment from my memory."

May laughs, and for a moment he forgets about the horrible levels of embarrassment and just feels that ache in his chest from missing her.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Send me those photos though. And get a haircut! You look like your Uncle Ben when I first met him, before I got him to tidy himself up."

"It'll be the first thing I do in Washington." Peter takes a second to just look her, trying to memorise the laughter lines around her eyes, the gentle peppering of grey in her hair, how wide her smile is when she's teasing him.

Then he hears a voice in the background.

"Was that Happy?"

"Bye, Peter! I love you!"

_“Sometimes, though not often, he had dreams, and they were more painful than the dreams of other boys. For hours he could not be separated from these dreams, though he wailed piteously in them. They had to do, I think, with the riddle of his existence.”_

**THE HOME UNDER THE GROUND**

"…Please, please wake up. Peter? _Peter_ , wake up. It's not real, just open your eyes!"

Bright light floods his vision and he flinches back, gasping through the sobs still tearing through his chest. Michelle is hovering over him, hands held up in surrender as he tries to gain control over his flailing limbs. Her eyes are red and he's never seen her look scared before, but that's the way she looks at him now.

He scares her.

Oh God. What did he do?

"Michelle, what are you - what happened?" His voice is hoarse, his mouth dry. Michelle exhales a trembling breath and lowers her hands to her lap.

"You had another nightmare and I couldn't calm you down." She sounds calmer than she appears, her eyes flickering over his form but never his face. "You just kept screaming for - For - I didn't know what to do. Usually I can get you to stop, but -"

"Usually?" He sits up, the cool air drawing attention to the sweat drying on his skin. "This happens a lot?"

"Not a lot," she hedges, fidgeting with the scratchy motel sheets. "Maybe once a week -"

"Once a week?!" He clambers out of the bed, desperate to put space between them. It's been months since he'd last had his nightmares. He never remembered them clearly, just glimpses of rubble and red, screams and crashes, last words and a broken heart. May had dealt with them all the way she deals with everything - calmly, methodically. Six months of therapy was supposed to have helped ease them.

"Peter, it's fine, it's only nightmares. Most of the time you just twitch and mutter. They're perfectly natural and you shouldn't be embarrassed -"

"I'm not _embarrassed_." He presses his forehead against the chilled glass of the window, looking out at the artificial lights. "I just didn't know you had to deal with them."

"I don't just deal with them. I'm… I'm your friend, right? It's what friends do."

She suddenly sounds nervous, almost insecure. He turns to see her biting her lip, tugging at the hair that keeps slipping from behind her ear.

"Yeah, of course we're friends," he whispers, desperate to reassure her. "I'm sorry, I appreciate you helping me, I do. I just didn't know. I thought I was over them."

"It's fine." She stares towards the door, her jaw tense as she grinds her teeth. "I uh, I had some too. After we came back."

Peter sits back down on the bed, pulling her hand from the mess he's made of the sheets to lace together with his. "I'm sorry," he says again. She flickers a smile his way before looking back down at their joined hands.

"Don't apologise, it's honestly fine. This one was just a bit… You've never screamed before. It caught me off guard."

"What did I scream?" he whispers, unsure if he actually wants to know.

She meets his gaze and there's a pain in her eyes that unnerves him. She shakes her head, then sighs. "You were screaming for your mom."

Oh.

Like she's flipped a switch in his mind, he sees it now. The car wreck. The sirens. The tremor in his Uncle's hands. The two coffins lowering into the ground, hot tears streaming down his face.

He swallows the fresh wave of grief down like a bitter pill.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. His body sinks slowly into the mattress, his mind too far back in time. It's been a long time since he really thought of his parents. Now, he can't stop replaying the slam of the front door as they left him behind.

"Peter." Michelle crawls towards him, clings to his hand as he curls into himself. She stretches herself out beside him, brushes at the tear stains on his cheeks. "Don't disappear on me. Let me help."

Her hand is warm in his and he pulls it to his chest like it can melt the block of ice sitting in his chest. There's still a bit of nail polish left over after they'd taken turns painting each other's nails a few days ago, and he remembers how she'd laughed as he clumsily painted her cuticles a deep blue. She had done a far better job on his, the black complimenting the soft tan he had picked up in the last few weeks.

Michelle lets him press her hand over his sternum, his heart still pounding, and when his tears dry she tugs him close until his head is on her shoulder and her arms are wrapped around him.

He eventually falls asleep, her gentle hum vibrating through his cheek, her arms protecting him from the bad dreams.

***

He thinks Washington might be his new favourite place.

Michelle lights up there in a way he hasn't seen before, so it's easy to ignore the last time they were here together; years ago, when things were simpler. She drags him around DC with the same thrilled eagerness of Leslie Knope, and he forgets he's still tired from the journey.

It had been a long drive and the night they'd arrived, Peter had woken up in the early hours to Michelle pressed against his side and promptly forgotten how to sleep. Still, days later, he can't stop his mind from spiralling every night, hyper-focused on the steady breaths of the girl beside him as she gravitates towards his side of the bed like there's a magnetic pull.

Ned had found the whole thing hilarious when he'd phoned, so Peter hasn't bothered asking for advice.

And he _definitely_ hasn't told May, who calls everyday and teases him. He lets her because she's still a little angry with him, even after he'd shipped her an apology giftbox of her favourite fudge from a local shop.

So he's stuck dealing with the conflicting feelings in his gut alone, which means very little sleep and almost overdosing on caffeine as a result.

But her smile dazzles him as she spots the White House for the first time, so he probably won't complain any time soon.

***

"We're never going to make a decision at this rate!"

"Well if you'd just accept that I'm right, like always -"

"Peter, I am older and wiser than you and therefore -"

"You're two months older, and that doesn't mean anything when it comes to your questionable tastes."

"I have great taste in movies!"

"The last time I let you pick, I came back from the store to you 'accidentally' browsing awful romcoms from the 80's -"

"I told you, I sat on the remote!"

"Then why were you halfway through the alphabet?"

***

Michelle gets sick, two days after they get caught in a rainstorm.

She drones on and on about how she'd told him it was stupid to not take cover, but she'd looked so adorable with curls stuck to her face and his shirt clinging to her frame, trying so hard to smother her smile as he shook the rain out of his hair. He'd just wanted the moment to last a little longer.

Besides, it's hard to take her seriously when she's curled up tight in the middle of their bed, shivering and pale and surrounded by snotty tissues.

She pushes through like a champ for most of the day, aided by the multitude of cold medicines he'd collected from the three drug stores in running distance. He camps out on the floor and they watch black and white movies and he tries to make her laugh at least once every hour. It's nice, and comfortable.

But then her temperature drops dramatically.

The sun has just finished setting, and Peter’s wrapped her in as many of the blankets he could coerce from the front desk as possible. She's still shivering, her body refusing to regulate. So he does what any friend would do in that scenario.

He takes off his shirt.

"Shuffle over," he commands, "I'm coming in."

"The last thing we need is both of us being sick," she says, stretching out her sore muscles to take up more of the bed in protest.

"Trust me, that's not gonna be a problem," he mutters, and with one hand he slides her across the mattress and with the other he lifts the hundred layers of blanket and clambers in beside her.

"Peter," she complains, already pressing her cold hands against his chest. He wraps an arm around her, her head nuzzled into his neck, and reaches for the discarded book she hasn't been able to focus on since this morning.

"Now, where were you?" He thumbs through the pages until she nods once. He settles back against the pillows and begins to read aloud.

She succumbs to sleep in moments, her eyelashes tickling his skin.

***

Her phone lights up two nights later with a Google alert.

It's a New York Times piece entitled, _WHERE IS SPIDERMAN?_

He looks towards the bathroom where he can hear the pipes groaning in protest.

Oh.

_Oh_.

***

"So are you gonna tell her?"

Peter's sigh just seems to reverberate his anguish back at him as he lies on the ceiling. Michelle is out at a book store and he's relishing the chance to get some decent thinking done, which has always been done best when he's upside down.

"I have no idea. I don't even know how significant it is that she has alerts for Spiderman - lots of people living in New York probably have Spiderman alerts. And she's interested in journalism, so she probably has loads of things she keeps an eye on."

"Have you ever seen her get an alert before?" Ned asks. Peter can hear the sound of his video game with the volume on low.

"No, but… She doesn't tend to leave her phone around. She gets a lot of notifications that make her frown but I think those are messages from her… Family. I don't really know who she has at home. I just know she's ignoring them."

"That doesn't sound… Great."

"Not really. I want to ask but, it's MJ."

"Yeah she'd probably murder you in your sleep."

"I mean, that wouldn't be the worst way to go. At least I'd be sleeping and not suffering."

"Yeah you're right. She'd definitely wake you up before murdering you."

"Thanks, Ned." Probably not going to sleep for the next week…

"So… Are you gonna tell her?"

_Sigh._ "I honestly don't know."

_“I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it? Time is chasing after all of us.”_

**THE MERMAID'S LAGOON**

Clearly, all this talk about Spiderman triggers something in the universe.

Someone apparently decides to take advantage of the lack of the friendly neighbourhood crime fighter and cause a lot of damage, so much so that he has to field calls from Happy and even Rhodey while Michelle watches on with increasing interest from their protesting outside Seaworld before heading up the coast to La Jolla Cove.

"Why are you ignoring your phone?" she asks (a little bit hypocritically but again, he's not gonna bring that up).

"Uhh…"

"You never ignore your phone."

"Well, I -"

"It's probably important. _Super_ important."

Peter just stares at her. His face is _not_ flushing.

"It's fine. It can wait."

His phone starts to buzz again as they drive, the car displaying the call on the screen embedded in the dash.

"Who's 'Happy'?"

"He's a, uh, an uncle."

She looks completely unconvinced but then Ned is calling, and the little seed of panic in his gut blooms into a full scale tree of terror.

***

There's sand scratching between his toes and his hair is a mess from running his hand through it too many times, and he's possibly on the brink of a minor breakdown.

"Can you stop pacing? It’s causing a draft."

He frowns down at her, where she's lying back on the sand in the little denim cut-offs she'd made this morning that accentuate the length of her legs.

"We're outside. At the beach."

"Pacing isn't going to change what's happening on the other side of the country."

Peter feels saltwater licking at his heels as he stares at her, watching her flick hair out of her face and turn a page of her book.

"That's our _home_ , MJ, and all of the people we know could be in real danger."

"Look, loser - Ned and your Aunt May are safe with your Uncle, and there's a whole bunch of people in suits that cost more than most people make in their entire life dealing with the situation. Plus, it's not like we could do anything about it if we were there."

She stares at him pointedly. Peter's heart begins to stutter. He can't feel his fingers.

"Yeah, ‘course."

His pacing continues, and eventually she sighs. Michelle slips her book back into her bag, and her fingers slip hesitantly into his. She tugs him until he sits beside her, and lets go of his hand to doodle in the sand.

"I'm sorry. I know this is probably scary. You have a lot more at risk than I do."

He's trying really hard not to start hyperventilating. The last thing he needs is to have an anxiety attack in front of her.

Michelle leans over to nudge their shoulders together. He jolts in surprise at the touch of her bare arm, hears the hitch in her breath as she prepares to speak.

"D'you remember the Washington Monument? Back in sophomore year? The team were just… Stuck. And scared. I was watching from the ground, and there was nothing I could do. Completely useless.” She chuckles humourlessly. "I felt sick, and dizzy. And… I realised that I actually cared about them. The Decathalon team. That I was uh, I was really worried about them."

Michelle swipes at her eyes and stares out at the horizon. When he looks at her drawing in the sand, it's of a skyline on fire.

"You cared," he whispers.

She sniffs. "Stupid emotions."

"Yeah, who'd have 'em," Peter says through a wet laugh.

"I didn't know what it was like, to have friends." She looks down at her lap. "It sucked."

"It doesn't have to. Not when it's the right friends."

Waves lap at their ankles, the water cool against the sun's heat on their skin. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course you can."

"I don't 'prefer' being alone." Michelle curls her knees up to her chest, resting her chin at their peak. "When I was seven, my dad moved to Germany for work. He visited, but less and less over the years… I just got scared to let people in. I got to a place where I was willing to open myself up and then all of the dusting shit happened and suddenly I… Reverting back to my old ways was easier than asking for help from people I still barely knew."

She's quiet for a long time, and Peter wants to hold her hand. He wants her to know he's there for her, and to show her that having friends doesn't have to suck - it can be really, really good. Haven't the past seven weeks been just that?

"MJ… You know that you have friends, right? You have me, and Ned, and the Decathalon team. I think even Flash likes you - really deep down. Under the douchey-ness."

She chuckles, but sobers quickly. "I just, uh, I don't always find it easy to connect to people."

"You were starting to. After Washington, and H-Homecoming." He picks at the skin around his thumb nail, pushes down the wave of anxiety that remembering that time brings up in him.

Michelle shrugs. "We didn't know what was coming."

He knows she means the Blip, which is another period of time he tries not to think about. Ever.

But for her, he'll re-open the wound.

"I'm sorry I didn't try harder to be there for you. It was… Difficult."

"I know. But you had a lot going on; more than most. I could have also tried. It was just easier not to."

Michelle inches her hand across the sand, and links her pinkie finger with his.

"Do you remember it? Dying?"

"You mean when we got erased?"

"Yeah. Erased, dying… Same thing."

He wants to tell her the truth so badly, can feel the words burning in his throat. He's never _wanted_ to talk about it, but she'd opened up to him for the first time and he wants to ease her pain with his story, to let her know that she isn't alone.

He wants to tell her about being on another planet, and meeting a goddamn wizard, and dying scared and a million miles away from the people he loved.

He wants to tell her about coming back and having to battle to save the whole universe and watching his mentor save them all and die right in front of him.

But he doesn't, because she shuffles closer to him so their shoulders are touching, and he remembers that she doesn't know about his other life.

And maybe that's for the best.

"No." Peter squeezes her finger, tries not to puke from the guilt twisting his stomach. "I was just there in one moment… Back in the next. The next being five years later."

"Oh."

The sea breeze is gentle on their skin, so he knows the feeling that prickles at his nerve endings is caused by the look on her face - she looks sad, more sad than he's ever seen her. She's always so careful of keeping up her walls but as she looks out at the ocean that encroaches towards them, he realises she's vulnerable, trying to let him in on something real and painful.

"You do?"

"No." She tilts her head. "I don't know. I remember watching it on the TV. I remember the rolling footage of a world on fire. I remember my mom hugging me and seeing the news anchor dissolve, and then everyone was screaming - the whole universe - and I felt this…"

Michelle struggles with the words and Peter works his hand under hers until he can hold it tightly, trying to support her through the swell of emotion that makes a tear slip down her cheek. 

"Every cell in my body was disintegrating and I… It was like I blinked, and one second my mom is holding me in her arms and the next I'm standing in a home that isn't mine anymore, and everything feels wrong and awful and…"

Her gaze is far away, lost in her memories, and Peter's trying so hard not to get lost in his own. He understands exactly how she feels, remembers the terror of death curling up his spine as he desperately clung to - to -

Peter pulls their linked hands into his lap. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles as tears drip from her chin.

"I'm so, so sorry," he whispers, and he is; for lying when she needed the truth, for failing to stop Thanos the first time around, for not reaching out when she was so clearly struggling.

For the first time in a long time, Michelle locks their gaze with a ferocity he hasn't seen in her before. "Don't apologise. It wasn't your fault, Peter."

It's not fair because this should be her moment, but for some reason, her insistence absolves him a little bit. Like he's Atlas holding the celestial sphere, and she's taken some of the overwhelming weight away.

Peter blows out a breath, wishing with all his heart that he too could take away the pain burning in her eyes. He wants so badly to see her happy.

He's gonna tell her, he decides. He'll do anything if it means helping her.

***

New York is saved.

Everyone lives.

Michelle is asleep on his shoulder.

It's early morning and he can't sleep for thinking about how to tell her.

Tell her what, though? That he's a superhero, or that he likes her way more than just a friend?

Both seem terrifying. Both are messy. But Michelle is an avid collector of truths, and there is one that she deserves.

_“To reveal who he really was would even at this date set the country in a blaze.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you thought! Part three on Sunday - and ha, if you thought it was going to stay at this level of fluff and angst then prepare yourselves because it's gonna get WORSE (but then a little bit better. but mostly worse)
> 
> mjonesing on Tumblr if you want to scream about how amazing this fandom is.


	3. The Pact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys. I can't believe this is the end. How has this week gone by so fast?
> 
> This is, by far, the longest thing I've ever written. It started as some little thing in my notes on the 14 September 2019, and now, nine months later, it's here for everyone to see. I've spent so long on it that it's like I'm finally letting my child go out into the world independently and... It's oddly appropriate, really, considering the plot. I'm so proud of myself for managing to fight my way through and I really hope you've enjoyed reading it even a fraction of how much I've loved writing it.
> 
> For now, after spending the past month writing far too many stories and basically losing myself to my creative brain's obsessive tendencies, I'm going to finally get around to catching up with all the things I missed from Spideychelle Week before I rejoin a healing world by returning to work.
> 
> I love you all, and happy reading.

_Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, Wendy Darling,_  
_Even Captain Hook, you are my perfect story book._  
_Neverland, I love you so._  
_You are now my home sweet home._  
_Forever a lost boy at last,_  
_And for always I will say,_  
_I am a lost boy from Neverland,_  
_Usually hanging out with Peter Pan._  
_And when we're bored we play in the woods,_  
_Always on the run from Captain Hook._  
_"Run, run, lost boy," they say to me._  
_Away from all of reality._  
_Neverland is home to lost boys like me,_  
_And lost boys like me are free._

**"HOOK OR ME THIS TIME"**

"Okay, spill." Michelle pinches some of his fries, dipping them into barbeque sauce. "You've been weird for days now. What's up your butt?"

"Nothing is up my butt. I'm fine." Peter sticks his fork into her mashed potatoes. "Why did you order this if you're just gonna steal all of mine?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't want the burger when it got here."

Peter looks down at his barely touched meal. "Wanna swap?"

Michelle switches their plates and he tucks happily into his new food. "You're not off the hook. If you're gonna keep being weird, I'll start doubting my decision to bring you along."

***

The moon is full and bright as he drives the last fifty miles to the Grand Canyon. It's one of the places he's most been looking forward to, but under the cover of darkness he's more focused on his plan of how to bring Michelle in on his alter ego.

She's asleep beside him, wrapped up in his favourite jumper, a pair of his sweatpants ending a good three inches above her ankle as she curls against the passenger door. Her arm is stretched towards him, fingers twitching as she dreams.

He realised pretty quickly that just coming out with it probably won't end well. He stumbles over his words too much and it doesn't seem enough for her. He wants her to see that he _understands_ , but that's kinda hard to do if he just claps his hands and says, _ta da, I'm the guy behind the mask!_

He doesn't have any of the suits with him, so he can't just let her stumble across it like Ned and May.

How has he been doing this for four years and yet still be incapable of broaching this?

Peter pulls into a gas station, easing in so as not to wake Michelle. She shifts but settles and he unclips his belt, creeping out of the car. The lights are dimmed but there's movement inside, so he begins the walk over, glancing over his shoulder one last time to see the overhead lights shining off of her eyes.

He waves. She nods. The hairs on his arm stand on end.

Shit.

_Not now, please…_

The cock of a shotgun.

A whimper.

Peter reaches into his pocket, grabbing the web-shooter hidden on his keychain. He pulls his hood over his head and ducks into the darkest corner where he's sure Michelle can't see him - just because he thought it would be easier this way doesn't mean he's actually going to do it.

Peter eases the shop door open and jumps to the ceiling, creeping along until he has a better view of the situation. The shop clerk is behind the counter with two guys facing him - one with the gun, one with a bag. The taller assailant speaks in a gruff voice, demanding for the money to be put in the bag.

Peter moves until he has a better line of sight, then fires, ripping the gun from his hands and discarding of it on top of the tall freezers in the corner.

"Hey! What was that?"

Peter fires again, binding the shorter guys hands together, then drags him forward until he bangs his head on the counter. The taller guy reaches into his waistband for the pistol at his back, but Peter's already jumped down, delivering a hefty punch that knocks him out cold.

He glances up to the store clerk, who looks more terrified of him than he was of the guys trying to rob him.

"Call the police," Peter says, lowering his voice. "Everything's gonna be okay."

The clerk grabs his phone from his back pocket, fingers shaking as he dials. Peter secures the two men and grabs the soda he'd stopped for, slipping a ten dollar bill across the counter. He hurries out while the clerk is still distracted, rushing back to the car.

"Peter?" Michelle sits ups straighter as he slams the door behind him, fumbling with the keys. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, everything's fine." The key slides home and Peter hits the gas, pulling back out onto the open road.

"Are you sure?" Michelle touches the back of his hand on the gearstick. "You're shaking."

He spares a look to see her brow crinkle with concern. "I'm just tired. Honestly, MJ. We're nearly there, okay? Just go back to sleep."

Michelle puts her hand more firmly on top of his, but otherwise lets the matter go. She doesn't go back to sleep, instead choosing to hum quietly along to the late night radio. The sound of her voice calms him, and by the time they've reached the motel, he's almost forgotten all about the incident.

It's later that night when they're lying beside each other, the room dimly lit by the moon. He turns over her hand, runs a finger along her life line. They've settled into this easy rhythm of being good friends during the day, but with the night to bolster them they toe the line. They're always touching in some way; her arm over his chest, perhaps, or his legs tangled with hers, or even just the reassurance of linked hands between them.

He's starting to hope that, maybe, his crush isn't so one-sided.

"Peter, can you tell me a secret?"

"Huh?" He looks up to see the hard line of her mouth. "A secret? Don't we usually just offer those up to each other?"

Michelle brushes her hair out her eyes then runs her fingers over the bumps of his knuckles, the sharp splash of her purple nails standing out against his pale skin. "Yes, but I don't think you'll tell me unless I ask."

Something uneasy stirs inside him. "What do you want to ask me?"

She hesitates, her mind working over her next words carefully. She sits up and turns on the lamp above her side of the bed, and Peter mirrors her gingerly. She tugs a forgotten pen from her hair and begins to trace over the faded lines of the dragon she'd created a few days ago.

He waits patiently for the wave of calm that always washes over her when she draws. He knows when it hits because she inhales deeply. "Why aren't you going to college?"

Peter is quiet for a very long time, first from surprise and then as he tries to sort through his thoughts. She doesn't press, just continues to revive her work, so calm that she might have asked him what the weather was doing outside.

Eventually, he falls onto his back and twists his arm when she taps his wrist. "I'm going to. Next year, probably."

"That's not a reason," she points out, then adds, "I don't want to push it if it's difficult. I'm just… curious."

"You're curious?"

Peter may not have known her well before this trip, but he knows what she's like when she's 'curious' - she's relentless, hungry for the truth, trying to arrange it all in her mind so she understands it all. He's spent countless hours watching her grill museum curators and their assistants, question after question after question until she gets it. He doesn't expect her to have that kind of approach with him, but he wonders how she held off so long - two months of nothing, and only now is she broaching the topic.

"I've almost got you pegged, but the college thing doesn't make sense. You're clever and you love learning and you used to go on and on about MIT or CalTech and then… You'd have beaten me for valedictorian if you'd applied yourself properly this year. And now you're not going to any school, and I don't get why you'd let me drag you around the country when you could just as easily run away to a college far, far away."

He realises, then, that he's not the only one who's been keeping track of things. Just as he's been adding to his list of things he knows about her, so has she to her own list on him.

He wonders what else she's learnt; what she means by almost having him figured out.

"If I tell you, will you tell me a secret?"

Her mouth twists down, then softens. "Are you bartering your thing for mine?"

"An equitable exchange of information." He glances down to the dragon that she's now adding scales to, the ballpoint making the task easier than the original marker. "But only if you want to."

"What do you want to know?"

Peter has a hundred questions he wants to ask her, but when he pictures himself asking he can only see her clamming up, withdrawing from him. He's spent so long trying to get her to open up that he doesn't want to risk it, so he sifts through them until he finds the simplest, the one that she can give or leave out as much information as she wants.

"Who's on the other end of all the calls you keep ignoring?"

He's surprised by the sudden well of tears that appear in her eyes. "I guess it was silly to hope you'd missed that."

"It didn't stop for the first few weeks, so I couldn't really help noticing it." Peter takes her hands once more, smoothing his thumb the smattering of freckles by her wrist. "You never answer and you don't call back, and I'm worried - I just want to know if me worrying over who's trying so hard to reach you is justified, or… I need to know you're safe."

They're sitting close enough that when Michelle presses forward her forehead touches his, her eyes closing. "Peter, you don't have to worry about me."

"I always worry about the people I care about."

Something wet falls onto the back of his hand. "That's very sweet of you, but it's just my dad."

She presses their palms together, her fingertips tickling his wrists. Peter brushes his lips over her cheek, trying to reassure her. "Is he okay? You said before you didn't see him much and…"

He can tell by the way she draws in a shaky breath that it's all he's going to coax out of her, but at least he knows one more thing.

"He's fine. He's with my mom, actually, so," Michelle says after a moment, and then she leans back to wipe quickly at the tear tracks on her cheeks.

Peter's hands fall between them and he wraps them around her calf to maintain some physical contact. "I'm not going to college because I don't know what to do."

Michelle frowns. "No one knows what they're doing at college. It's kinda the point."

"That's true." He exhales a laugh. "But I mean… That I don't know. There's so many variables to consider and I have responsibilities and obligations -"

"Because you're Spiderman?"

"What?" Peter feels every muscle in his body contract. "No, I'm not -"

"I mean… It's pretty obvious." Michelle smirks. "I told you, I've got you figured out."

Of course she does.

He doesn't know how he ever doubted it.

Michelle is too smart not to see the truth.

"Is it really that obvious?"

She laughs, leaning into her pillow. "Only if you pay attention. Nobody ever does, though."

"Except you?" Peter bites his lip as she makes herself more comfortable on her side, her dark eyes never leaving him.

"Except me." She pats the space between them, seemingly satisfied. "Come on, we need to get some sleep before the Canyon tomorrow."

They turn off the lights and Peter settles back down, tugging at the hem of her shirt until she shuffles closer. She faces him, lifting an arm to let him press against her, but he nudges at her hip until she rolls over and he can pull her against his chest.

"I think you can do anything you want," she whispers into the peace. "You shouldn't be scared to go for it."

"I don't know what I want," he says into her hair, pulled back into a soft braid. "And even when I think I do… I don't know how it fits into the chaos of my life."

"Not all things are complicated." Michelle holds him arm around her tighter. "Maybe you just need to look at the little things; see how easy they actually are. Then the big things won't be as hard. I bet if you just let yourself, you'd be surprised by what happens."

Peter frowns at the undertone of her voice that he can't pinpoint. "What are the little things?"

"We can start with breakfast tomorrow. Work our way up. Maybe lunch?"

His laugh ruffles the loose strands of hair. "Goodnight, MJ."

Goodnight, Peter."

***

"Hey, Spidey. Can you crush that rock?"

"Probably."

"Do it."

"There are people around, MJ, I can't just -"

"They aren't looking. Please, Peter?"

"…"

"That was a pretty small rock. I probably could have crushed it if I tried."

"Unless you are also harbouring enhanced genetics, I highly doubt it."

"I could! You broke it already so I can't show you, but I definitely could."

"MJ -"

"What about that? Could you lift it?"

"I mean, I'm pretty strong. So yeah."

"Okay, but _how_ strong?"

"I stopped Bucky Barnes' metal arm with one hand."

"You met Bucky Barnes? What about Sam Wilson?"

"We have… Interacted."

"Can you introduce me? I have some questions about his recent handling of - Peter? Peter, come back! _Peter!"_

***

"She took it well, then?"

Peter sighs, phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear as he tugs his jeans up his legs. "Better than May, and much less freaked out than you."

"We've talked about this! I was very surprised to suddenly see my best friend of ten years crawling on -"

"I know, I know." Peter jumps to pull the waistband up properly, then works on the fastening. "She basically just asked me to do a lot of things and if I'd introduce her to Falcon - uh, Captain America? I guess? - because she wants to talk about the whole Accords thing."

"She's meeting the Avengers?" Ned sounds devastated. "I've been asking you that for _years!_ I knew first _and_ I've known you longer."

"I'm not - Ned would you please calm down?" Peter pulls out his last clean shirt and makes a mental note to mention a laundry morning to Michelle when she gets out of the shower.

"Has she found you on the ceiling yet? Because honestly dude, it's weird and I'm still not used to it."

"It's not weird - it's nice. If you could chill up there you'd do it too."

"Nuh-uh. I like my feet being firmly on the floor. I don't need to hang upside down to think or study or talk on the phone or whatever else you like doing up there."

Peter puts the phone back to his ear, now properly dressed. "We’ve gotten dangerously off-track and I don’t have much time.”

“Oh, so you want to talk about the other thing?”

“What other thing?” Ned is quiet and Peter groans. “I know I said to keep an eye on May, but that didn’t mean gossiping about me while I’m away!”

“Gossiping? There’s _gossip_?!” Ned gasps. “What aren’t you telling me? Peter, we promised to tell each other everything!”

“Uhh…” Peter taps his foot anxiously. “What do you _think_ is the other thing?”

“Your birthday! Stop trying to distract me!”

“Oh. Well that’s fine. I figured we’d probably just get pizza and play video games like last year. And the year before that. And the year before that. And the -“

“Dude, it’s gonna be the first time I see you in three months. We’re not sitting inside doing nothing.”

Peter frowns. “But we love sitting inside doing nothing.”

Ned laughs. “That’s true.”

“You’re both lame.” Michelle walks into the room, scrunching her hair with a towel, dressed in one of his shirts that brings a little bit too much attention to her chest when her skin is still damp. Peter clears his throat and turns around.

“Hey, MJ! We’re just talking about Peter’s birthday.”

“It’s Peter’s birthday? I thought it was in August.”

Peter gives her a feigned look of betrayal, and she flips him off. “He’s just excited to see me again.”

“Aw.” Michelle props her chin on his shoulder. “You guys are adorable.”

Ned tuts. “Excuse you, but we haven’t gone this long apart since I went to Hawaii for the summer in sixth grade.”

“I mean, I think those five years we didn’t exist wins out but okay.” Michelle glances between the phone and Peter when silence settles over them. “Not in a joking place about that yet? Okay. Noted.”

Michelle pats him on the arm and resumes sorting out her hair. Peter watches her, smiling softly. She does this cute thing when she's styling her hair, where she tips her head over and runs her fingers through her hair with some kind of product that smells incredible. Then she shakes it out and her curls are wild and shiny and he wants to pull at them to see them spring back up - he thinks they might be nearing that place, hopefully, because every time she does it it's harder to resist and -

“Hey Peter. Take me off speaker for a minute."

He picks up his phone and presses it to his ear. "What's up?"

"What was that?" Ned probably raises his eyebrows in that suspicious way he does, like when Peter says he isn't injured and his best friend knows better.

He tries to brush it off anyway. "What was what?"

"I don't need to see your face to know what it looks like right now." Peter opens his mouth to object but Ned interrupts. "Don't even try. You can't fool me."

He looks back to Michelle, who's mouth quirks up when she catches him.

"Sorry Ned, didn't catch that. Bad signal. You're breaking up!"

"Are you serious, Peter? You're pulling that card?"

He checks the contents of his backpack to hide his flaming cheeks. "Ned, I can't - Can you hear me?"

"Honestly I'd be annoyed if I wasn't so proud. Classic hijinks." Ned chuckles. "This isn't over - I _will_ get the truth from you. But have fun today and call me later!"

"Alright, bye Ned."

"Bye, Peter."

_“Take care, lest an adventure is now offered you, which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe.”_

**PETER BREAKS THROUGH**

The journey to Oklahoma is long and exhausting, driving straight through New Mexico to make up for some of their lost time. It takes a day and a half, with a short stop over to sleep.

He'd had another nightmare, squashed into the cramped space of the backseat while they were pulled over. Michelle's slept for most of today's journey in repercussion, but there's only a few miles until they have a proper bed and he can shower the layer of dried sweat from his skin.

He's counting down the minutes desperately, ready to be anywhere else but this car.

The road leading to the motel is rickety and shakes the car, waking his passenger up.

"Hey Aragog, chill it with the speed, would you?" Michelle's sleep-warmed hand wraps arounds his wrist. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Peter watches the needle slowly drift a little closer to zero, tapping his thumb impatiently against the wheel. The lit up vacancy sign for their motel comes into view and Peter breathes a little easier.

She doesn't push any further but keeps her grip loose around him, and they finish the last few moments of the drive in silence. Peter scoops up their bags in the way he normally avoids to avoid attention while Michelle checks them in, and within seconds of her unlocking the door he dumps them in the first available space.

The room is badly lit and cramped and about five degrees too hot and the carpet is a burnt red that jars with his dark thoughts.

Peter runs.

***

He's gone for two hours.

He wants to swing; he wants to be in his suit feeling the air rush past him as he cuts a path through it that's uniquely his. He wants to take stupid photos with tourists and chat to the elderly couple he helps carrying their groceries every Sunday and he wants to hit someone who's bad. He wants his instincts to take over and feel the rush of knowing he was doing something worthwhile; something good.

But he can't.

So he ran. Let his feet pounding the ground control his heartrate. Closed his eyes and pretended the wind was something more familiar.

When he sulks back to the room, Michelle isn't there but the window is cracked open enough for him to get in, since he'd escaped without a key. He takes an extended shower to try and cool down the boiling in his blood. It doesn't really work but at least he doesn't smell.

He throws on a clean pair of shorts and jumps onto the ceiling, hoping for some reprieve from the blackhole in his mind.

The telly flickers upside down on silent but Peter just finds it annoying, so he lies back until the prickly texture scratches at his bare back. He fiddles with the web-shooter around his wrist, still there from the robbery he'd cut short days ago, fingers itching for his miniature set of tools so he can tinker. For lack of anything else to do, he fires a web into the furthest corner of the room, the soft sound of it landing a minor comfort.

He shoots again. And again. And again.

The makeshift hammock is surprisingly comfortable, and he lounges in it for a while before deciding to give the TV another shot. He dangles from a strand of webbing to reach for the remote he'd discarded earlier, stretching out his arm when it's almost out of reach.

This is how Michelle finds him when she finally returns, an extra large pizza box in hand.

She looks between him, the TV, and the mess he's made above her.

"If that stuff damages the wall, I'm not paying."

"It won't." Peter changes the channel and continues to hang upside down, tilting his chin towards his chest as she towers over him. "It only lasts a couple of hours."

Michelle plucks one of the strands gingerly. "I have so many questions, but I'm also starving. Can I, uh…"

Peter follows the direction of her finger to the hammock. "Oh. Yeah, of course, if you're sure. Let me just -"

He reinforces it to allow for both of their weights and so she'll feel a little safer, then holds a hand over the edge for her to take. She hands him the pizza box then eyes his hand with unease.

"I won't drop you," he promises.

"I know. I trust you." She wraps her hand around his and he tugs her easily into the hammock, firing a web to the thin pillows on the bed so he can make it more comfy. She tucks it gratefully behind her back and bounces up and down a few times, testing the capabilities of his construction. He barely notices, already a whole slice into the pizza.

"So, Spidey-O." Michelle snatches the box from his greasy grip, settled and content. "You wanna talk about it?"

He swallows the food in his mouth before answering. "Not really."

" _Should_ you talk it?"

Peter keeps his gaze on the patch of dust stuck to the top of the wall in front of him, a spot the cleaner clearly can't reach. "Probably."

Michelle's arm is a warm line against his, and he suddenly remembers he's still shirtless.

"If you decide you do want to talk about it, then I'm… You can talk to me. I can't promise I'll fully understand - because I think it's something a lot darker and weirder than anything I've gone through - but I'll try."

Peter sighs, releasing some of the tension from his shoulders. Everything she's said is the reason he hasn't talked about it, and yet, he finds it slipping off his tongue anyway. "When we all died, I was on another planet."

"You… Okay." Michelle puts down her crust and turns her body so she's facing him properly. Peter searches the popcorn ceiling for patterns, a hand behind his head.

"I know how this sounds, but.. I met this gang of aliens and a guy who thought Footloose was a great movie and a wizard who could see through time. Then we all fought Thanos and lost. And he wiped out half the universe, and I died millions of miles away from May, and I felt every second of it. And Mr Stark… Tony. He was there. He told me to stay on Earth, tried to keep me here but I didn't listen because I _never_ listen, and then…"

Peter finally looks at her, his eyes full of pain and grief. "Ever since I became… This… My life has been chaotic and amazing and terrible and… I want it to _stop._ Just for a moment."

"Oh Peter," she whispers. She grimaces, a hot flush of emotion welling over her controlled expression. She cards her fingers through the overgrown hair by his ear.

"Everything in my life right now is a question mark. I haven’t considered the future since I was 14, when I lost all guarantee that I’d have one. But now we’ve finished high school, and everyone is ready for this next big step that I never thought I’d reach." A tear leaks down his cheek, landing on her palm. "That's why I really said yes."

“To escape,” she says.

“To remember who I was - who I _am_ \- outside of all this,” he elaborated, waving a hand over the intricate layer of webs supporting them. Michelle exhales heavily.

“‘On these magic shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.’” When Peter frowns, Michelle elaborates, still with that gentle tone in her voice that feels like a caress against his cheek. “You had to grow up so fast, Peter. And it’s not fair, but you can’t go back. You know too much for the ignorance of youth.”

For the first time, all Peter wants is to kiss her. She has understood him without even trying, and it means more than he can ever possibly say.

Her hand slips down his jaw to find a resting place on his chest, her temple against his shoulder. “You know we can't run away forever, right?"

"I do." Peter leans a little closer, her warmth more comforting than he could have imagined. "But even if this is it, before I have to go back and face it all… It's worth it, because I got you."

_“I daresay it will hurt a little,” she warned him._

_“Oh, I shan't cry,” said Peter, who was already of the opinion that he had never cried in his life. And he clenched his teeth and did not cry, and soon his shadow was behaving properly, though still a little creased._

**THE NEVERBIRD**

He's in a good mood from waking up to the feel of her in his arms, curled around her back, his hand against the bare skin of her stomach.

She's in a good mood from… Something - he tries not to hope too hard, tries to remain grounded. Just because his feelings for her are spiralling horrifically out of control does not mean she feels the same.

He drives to the closest national park and they hike for miles, far off the beaten track. Michelle meticulously tracks their path despite his insistence that he can get them back. The humidity is heavy but he's got a backpack full of supplies and he's being powered forward by the excitement of what's to come.

He comes to a stop at the top of a particularly steep incline, taking a deep breath of fresh air as Michelle struggles up the final fifteen feet.

"How are you so unaffected by this? I'm dying here and you're… It's like you haven't exerted any effort for the last two hours." Michelle leans heavily on the stick she had been using to support her, chest expanding with short, desperate breaths. "I call bullshit. Admit it; you're tired."

He shrugs, taking her hand to help her up the last few steps until she's back at his side. "Blame it on the spider."

"The spider didn't drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn to get lost in the middle of nowhere." Michelle lands heavily on her butt, slumping over so her hot cheeks are pressed against his knee. "Why are we even here?"

He hands her a water bottle from the supplies, which she eagerly accepts. "There's not many places I can get away with swinging around without the suit, so… Here seemed the best choice."

Michelle finishes swallowing her gulp of water. "Swinging? You want to go swinging?"

"No." He crouches down next to her, taking the opportunity to watch the sun shining in her eyes. "I want to go swinging with you."

Immediately, Michelle tenses. "You what?"

"You keep asking me about the spider stuff, and I thought you might like experiencing some of it." He chews on his bottom lip. "If you want to. No pressure."

She glances around the heavy canopy of tall trees that hide them from the world, the last person they'd seen at least an hour away from their spot. "What if someone sees us?"

"They won't." Peter tries to make his smile encouraging. "I'm pretty stealthy."

The furrow between her eyebrows deepens. "Are you sure? You _really_ want to do this?"

"Swinging around the city is my favourite thing about being Spiderman - getting to do it with you? There's nothing I want more."

Her lips press together tightly and he waits for her to consider it before she slips her hand in his, standing up and adjusting her ponytail. "Okay. Sure. Why not?"

He grins wide and blinding, slipping off his bag and tucking it into some overgrown shrubbery. He wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts and scoops her onto his back, her little yelp at the ground suddenly disappearing from beneath her feet unbearably cute. He climbs the nearest tree with ease until he finds a stable branch a good distance above the forgotten path, letting Michelle slip down so he can hold her against his side.

"You ready?"

"Nope." Michelle hesitates before wrapping her arms around his neck. "Promise you won't drop me, Cobwebs?"

"You're safe, I promise. I won't let you go."

He fires a web until it pulls taut, waits for the downturn of her mouth to even back out, and then he jumps.

The exhilaration is familiar and yet brand new as he instantly finds his rhythm, settling into the routine of _thwip, swing, release_. Michelle's scream rings in his ears and she wraps her legs tightly around his waist, her hair slipping out of its confinement to blow freely around her head. He heads left; right; looping around a tree and jumping into another, letting himself be taken over by instinct.

"No, no no no _no!"_ Michelle presses her face into his neck. "Peter, I'm gonna fall!"

"I've got you, MJ!" They swing between the trees, his toes almost scraping the ground until he aims high and they shoot up towards the sky. "Open your eyes! You're flying!"

She screams again as he releases the web and they freefall for just a moment. Her grip around his neck is close to choking but he can't bring himself to care, too caught up in the feeling of sharing this with her.

Her nose brushes his shoulder as she turns her head to peak at the view behind them, the wild flowers disappearing from view. "Wow. I still hate it, but… _Wow._ "

His smile grows impossibly bigger and he pushes on, further and further, the air cool as it glides over them. He squeezes her hip and narrows his eyes as he spots the safest place to land, taking aim with a little less gusto, the thought of the moment ending filling him with sadness.

He takes care to land as softly as he can, easing the tightness of his hold on her. She doesn't move for a long moment, still wrapped around him with all of her strength, her eyelashes tickling her neck.

"You can let go, MJ," he whispers, "We're back on the ground."

Michelle gingerly lowers one leg, her walking boots meeting the tangle of shrubbery beneath them. When she's sure it's safe, she springs away from him to look wildly around her. "Oh. It's over?"

Peter chuckles. "Yeah."

She wrinkles her nose. "I am… I am _never_ doing that again. Ever."

He pulls their belongings free and grabs her water bottle again, handing it over. "Okay," he says easily, not really offended by her terror. He remembers the first time - how his fear paralysed him, how even with his enhanced senses he struggled with the overwhelming experience.

She swigs some water and spits it back out. "I think I swallowed like, twenty flies."

"Well, you know how the old lady dealt with that right?"

The joke breaks her from her looping thoughts and she splashing him with some of her water. "That was terrible."

"Sorry," he says as he laughs. He takes a step closer, missing her being pressed against him. "You okay?"

"I'm golden." She looks up at the trees they were just moving through. "I can't believe you do that every day."

"I'd say you get used to it, but… Every time it takes my breath away." Peter runs his fingers through his hair, looking out at the way they came. "Shall we head back? There was a diner on the way here that looked awesome and I'm starving."

Michelle groans. "You mean we have to go back the way we came? But I'm _tired_!"

"I'd offer to carry you, but I think you'd slap me."

She opens her mouth to object, then snaps it shut. "Okay, fine. But you definitely owe me a milkshake for everything you just put me through."

***

"Are you done?"

"Almost! Just one more -"

"Hurry up, this hurts."

"Smiling hurts?"

"Being forced to show my teeth for your stupid photo is _not_ smiling. It's torture."

"But you look so pretty with the sun setting and the -"

"Zip it, silk spinner. I want a vege-burger and a shower and for you to put that damn camera away. Not necessarily in that order."

***

His crush on Michelle is Absolutely Fine until Ned decides to get involved.

He comes out of the bathroom on their first night in Alabama to the sight of Michelle lying on her stomach across the bed, her feet swaying lazily in the air. She's wearing the stripy shorts that she's been living in since she bought them a week ago, which is great for her comfort wise, but it means everywhere he looks all he can see are her long legs. He lives for when night time rolls around and he can gently run his hand down the expanse of her thigh, per their unspoken agreement.

Last night the heat had been unbearable, and he'd slept without his shirt and she'd slept wearing nothing _but_ his shirt, and he can still feel the way her fingertips had drawn swirling patterns over his stomach when he'd woken up surrounded by her scent and her arms.

It takes a good few seconds to him to realise she's talking to someone, and with a quick glance he sees Ned's face taking up the screen of his phone in her hand.

"Hey! The ringing of your phone was annoying me, so I answered it." Michelle looks at him over her sun-kissed shoulder, the skinny strap of her shirt precariously balanced. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head but she blows at a stray curl restricting her vision. "He was just telling me about your first superhero moment."

Peter rolls his eyes affectionately. "I don't know why that's his favourite, but it is. He'll tell anyone who's allowed to hear it."

"So just your Aunt?"

"Yeah pretty much." He perches beside her so he can see the screen better, one hand supporting him on the other side of the duvet beside her waist.

"I don't know why you guys are talking about me like I'm not here," Ned objects, "But I love it. Carry on."

"Like I don't have a thousand other, more interesting stories," Peter continues, tutting.

Michelle arches that single eyebrow that means trouble for him. "Out of the four years you've been declaring yourself a man, I bet 80% of it has been saving cats from trees and taking photos with tourists."

His mouth gapes open. "Rude! I do other things!"

"Like what?"

"I also give those tourists directions." She smirks when he pauses. "One time I helped an old lady and she bought me a churro."

"Oh, God." Ned has his head in his hands. "If I always tell the story of him at the expo, he always tells the story of this damn churro."

"It was really nice of her!"

"It was three years ago. I've bought you at least 35 sodas since then."

"Please, not in front of the children." Michelle levels them both with a glare that quickly puts a stop to their bickering. "Ned, you said there was something important you needed to talk to Peter about."

Ned suddenly looks flustered, his eyes bouncing between them. "Did I?"

"We're not talking about this." Peter crosses his arms, edging further into frame so the irritation is more obvious.

"Talking about what?"

"You've been dodging it for weeks now, we need to -"

"It has not been _weeks,_ stop exaggerating!"

"Do you guys need to be alone, or…?" Michelle looks between the two of them, her mouth twisted to one side.

"Yes," Ned says at the same time as Peter desperately says, "No!"

A thick silence falls over the three of them.

Michelle holds the phone towards Peter, swinging her knees around so she's upright. "Okay so I'm gonna go do something else outside."

"Don't go," Peter drops the phone onto the bed and gets up to follow her, grabbing her hand before she can slip on the sandals she'd left by the door. "It's late. You shouldn't be out alone."

"It's fine, Peter. You two clearly have something to talk through, and I have pepper spray."

"MJ, _please._ "

He can see the moment it resolves itself in her head: that he's not worried about her going alone, but by the memory of the last time she'd gone. He feels shaky with the ghost of his anxiety as he'd waited for her to come back, their argument so stupid than he can no longer recall anything they'd argued over, but every second after until he'd been able to hold her again is tattooed into the back of his eyelids for the rest of time.

Her bag falls back to the floor. She nods and squeezes his hand.

"Now… Kiss!"

Peter and Michelle both flip Ned off, never taking their eyes off each other.

_“It may have been quixotic, but it was magnificent.”_

**THE ISLAND COME TRUE**

They're walking down Main Street, Peter pointing out all the stupid things in shop windows that he'd buy if he won the lottery, when her hand brushes his.

It's not the first time this has happened by any stretch - they've been travelling the country for over two months now, and they are probably a little too comfortable together at this point, judging by how their physical intimacy is spilling out of its confinement of the beds they share - but it's significant because they both let it happen again, their fingers beginning to lace together in a loose hold.

He fights hard to keep his lungs working and his words steady and to not let it slip how much he is freaking out over what is happening right now.

He wants to glance over, check in on whether she's displaying any outward signs of distress, but her face is hidden behind his sunglasses and a baseball cap she'd found in a thrift store with Daria rolling her eyes stitched into the front.

She's got a paper bag in her other hand with a gift for her mom inside - had mentioned something about the puzzle being good mental stimulation before closing off and distracting him by declaring a challenge of who could solve a Rubik's cube the fastest - and he's got more fudge to send to May, as well as several postcards he's been meaning to send to Morgan.

It's very domestic, in a way that makes his chest hurt with how badly he wants this with her.

"What's your plan, for after college?"

She doesn't let the sudden topic change startle her, continuing to idly cast her gaze over the people surrounding them who are conducting business of their own. "Law school," she says simply, her shoulder twitching in a lazy shrug.

"And after that?"

She drifts a little further away as the crowd thins out, returning quickly back so she's too close for the unbearable heat of late morning. He doesn't really mind, prefers her being right there with him no matter what.

"I don't know. It depends on where the job offers take me."

He nods to himself, concentrating on avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk like he used to a decade ago now, laughing and racing with his Uncle Ben. "Would you ever come back to New York?"

"Sure, I wouldn't be against it." Her long red nails scratch at the back of his hand as she tightens her grip, the matching polish on her toes glinting in the sunlight. He'd spent over an hour on them last night, his skill steadily improving as she lets him practise on her whenever the urge strikes. Her own handiwork is still significantly better, but she'd wriggled her toes gleefully when he'd finished and made sure to wear the sandals that showed them off the most today; a sure sign that she appreciated his efforts.

He must be quiet for a while, because she nudges him with her elbow. "What's going on in that brain of yours?"

"Nothing," he dismisses, spotting the store sign they've been looking for. "Found it! Let's get this stuff mailed so we can go try that ice cream stand."

Michelle lets him drag her along at a faster pace, the cool breeze of air conditioning relaxing the stiffness in his spine.

***

She lets him wallow in his strange mood for three days, before finally snapping when she returns from the front desk.

"Right, that's it. I'm fed up of being stuck in Charlotte's Web." She tugs on one of the web remnants hanging uselessly beside him. "Either we can talk through whatever's on your mind or you can go sulk on someone else's ceiling."

Peter stubbornly keeps his eyes shut, hugging his knees a little harder. "I do my best thinking up here," he objects childishly.

"And you've been 'thinking' for days now; I'm the one that has to look at you like this. Are you going to share with the class at any point?"

Peter sighs, dropping his head back to see her impatiently tapping her foot. "' _I don't want to go to school and learn solemn things._ '"

Michelle purses her lips, dropping the towels in her arms onto the closest surface. There's no indication of surprise on her face, nor a look of pity that most would offer him. She just kicks off her sneakers and sorts through her things until she finds the now familiar green hardback. She flicks through the pages without the foreboding press of time that plagues him until she settles on one, taking a perch in the middle of bed as she begins to read aloud.

_"Mrs. Darling came to the window, for at present she was keeping a sharp eye on Wendy. She told Peter that she had adopted all the other boys, and would like to adopt him also.  
_ _“Would you send me to school?” he inquired craftily.  
_ _“Yes.”  
_ _“And then to an office?”  
_ _“I suppose so.”  
_ _“Soon I would be a man?”  
_ _“Very soon.”  
_ _“I don't want to go to school and learn solemn things,” he told her passionately. “I don't want to be a man. O Wendy's mother, if I was to wake up and feel there was a beard!”_  
_“Peter,” said Wendy the comforter, “I should love you in a beard;” and Mrs. Darling stretched out her arms to him, but he repulsed her.  
_ _“Keep back, lady, no one is going to catch me and make me a man.”"_

The silence after she closes the book is heavy with something different between them, unlike anything that he's felt before.

She's angry, he realises with a start.

Michelle's breathing is too loud, echoing off the peeling wallpaper and faded blue carpet.

"I know you share a name, but that doesn't mean you're also immune to growing up."

He bites back the retort of _I can do anything I want to._

It's petty and mean and untrue.

"Did you read it all?"

He shakes his head, the glint in her eye rendering him mute.

"Peter Pan was not a happy boy." Michelle cradles the book to her chest, her fingers tracing the beaten fabric stretched over the spine. "He had countless adventures but he forgot them all. Eventually, he forgets about Captain Hook and even Wendy, and when his Lost Boys dare to grow up he kills them so he can find others. Everyone he once loved moved on and he stayed the same, stuck in a life of meaningless moments he'd probably lived a hundred times over."

A tear drips into his eyebrow without him even realising he's crying. Michelle looks up at him, her expression twisted with a profound sadness.

"Growing up is not a bad thing, Peter. There are plenty of adventures still to be had."

He presses a hand against the ceiling and lets his body gently lower back to the ground, leaning against the windowsill. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks up into the night sky, counting clusters of stars. "I'm not avoiding life, I just don't know what it wants from me."

He sniffs, pushing down the fresh wave of tears threatening to crash over him.

“Everyone expects so much from me all the time, MJ… Like being Spider-Man means I’m destined to be great at everything." The bed squeaks as she considers approaching him, but he just presses his forehead against the window, staring past his reflection. "I get told a lot about Spiderman being the next Iron Man, like I can possibly fill the gaping void he's left in the world, but the truth is… I’m never going to be Tony Stark. I can't be what everyone wants me to be.

"Mr Stark was a superhero, yeah; but he also ran a hugely success business, built unimaginable things without a sweat, was a philanthropist and a father and a husband and then, to top it all off… He saved the universe. The one in 13 million chance of doing it; no one else was ever going to be able to achieve what he did. How do you live up to that?"

Peter feels the tears trail down his face; doesn't bother wiping them away. "Why can’t I just be me? Why isn’t being Spider-Man enough? Surely that’s impressive without everything else.”

Michelle puts down the book and perches on the corner of the mattress, her elbows on her knees. He watches her fidget from the image of her on the glass, her hands twitching in the way he's come to know as her wanting to reach for him.

“Is that what you to be? Do you want to stop being Peter Parker and only be Spiderman?" Her voice barely holds any volume, but it's sincere and soft. "Because from where I’m sitting, Peter Parker is pretty damn impressive all by himself.”

His hands curl into fists inside his pockets. “I want people to let me decide. I want to make my own path in life, not follow someone else’s.”

“So do that. Be your own person. Take back your power," she says passionately, rising to her feet with the force of her words. "But that means deciding who you are. Are you a full-time superhero or are you a boy on the cusp of becoming an adult, learning how to live? Do you take the path you've been instructed to or do you forge your own?"

"It's not that simple, MJ," he tries, but she shakes her head, stepping all the more towards him.

"Right now you’re blaming everyone else for your lack of vision, but you don’t seem to have taken a moment to see that you’re also to blame. You’ve clearly adored Tony Stark and aspired to be just like him since you met him, but he’s not here anymore to guide you. Would he want this for you, if he was here? _You_ need to figure out what’s important.”

The way she says his mentor's name fills him with a dark fury, but he tempers it down when he finally turns to her and sees the concern creasing around her eyes.

“I became Spiderman because I have these abilities," he says, staring down at his hands in the space between them, "And when you can do these things and you do nothing… Bad shit happens because of you.”

She tilts her head as she considers his reasoning. “So Spiderman is an obligation. You felt a sense of duty.”

“No, I love being Spiderman. It’s-“

"Not all there is to life, Peter." She cradles his trembling fingers in her hands. "If you spend your life searching for trouble, it will find you... And it’ll probably kill you. Is that what you want? To fight and hunt and destroy until you die a hero?"

“No," he says again, a whimper echoing in his throat. "I just want to help.”

She stares at him imploringly. “So do I - It’s why I want to be a lawyer. I don’t need to put on a fancy bulletproof suit to help people.”

“So I should be a lawyer?”

Michelle sighs, chin dropping to her chest. “I’m not telling you what to do, Peter. People have clearly been doing that all your life and you don’t need anyone else contributing to that. I’m advising you to take control of your life and find the best solution. Ignore everyone else and be honest with yourself. What do _you_ want?"

He wants to be normal. He wants to spent Saturday nights saving the world and Sunday mornings sleeping in and reading the news over a cup of coffee. He wants to have a job he loves that contributes something good to the world. He wants to watch May grow old and be happy and give her the family she never got to fully appreciate the first time around. He wants to play video games with Ned and go to Europe just to see the sights and he wants to make Michelle smile in that secret, special way he loves every day. He wants to sleep without the threat of horrible memories and be able to look Morgan in the eye without that lump in his throat.

He wants to be Peter Parker _and_ Spiderman, but on his own terms.

He doesn't really know what that means yet, but he wants to try, and isn't that the point of it all?

***

Later that night, he stirs to his arm slung over her waist and she’s staring at the ceiling, tracing words into the skin on the back of his hands.

His throat is scratchy from the emotional mess of their evening. His face feels dry and tight. Her heart beats a steady, comforting rhythm beneath his cheek.

"I wish you could see what I see," she'd whispered as they held each other a few hours ago, the window cold against his spine but her touch always warm.

Now he basks in her gentle affections, his mind turning to dreams of her lips against his, their confessions tasting as sweet as their smiles.

_“It is not in doing what you like, but in liking what you do that is the secret of happiness.”_

**THE HAPPY HOME**

" _Ow,_ MJ! What you doing?"

"Crushing you, clearly."

"Why - are - you - oof - Why?"

"You're sulking again, and studies show that compression of the central nervous system reduces cortisol levels and increases oxytocin and dopamine production."

"Lying on top of me is- is not hugging me."

"My arms are tired from carrying all the laundry up from the car which _you_ were supposed to help me with. So this will have to do... Why are you sulking again?"

"I'm not sulking."

"You were doing the face again."

"I'm not sulking - How did you just become heavier?!"

"Tell me!"

"I was napping!"

"…Oh. Is that what the wet patch on the pillow was? I thought you were crying again."

***

Michelle slaps her largest map onto the table in front of him, leaning against her palm so he can feel her words waft over his face. "I'd like to propose a last-minute change to our final week's itinerary."

Peter speaks around the straw around in his mouth, still trying to suck up the last dregs of his milkshake. "You don't want to go pull faces at the entrance of Disney World?"

"As much as that truly appeals, there's somewhere more important we need to go." Michelle slides back into her side of the booth, the red coating of the seats protesting as her thighs stick to it. She's wearing those stripy shorts again, and as she'd drawn two stars and a thimble on his arm on their drive here, she'd pressed his hand against the soft skin below their hem and he'd almost collapsed of heart failure.

"What are you suggesting?"

She points to a place on the map and he almost chokes on his own tongue.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Might as well visit home, right?"

***

Peter is quiet as he looks up at the statue, contemplating her last few words.

"So the whole thing is a lie?"

"No one even knows what John Harvard looks like, and the date's wrong. He wasn't even a founder of the college."

Michelle has already eagerly shown him around the campus, pointing out the Freshman dorms and Annenberg Hall, where she'll dine every day. Her face had lit up when she'd gushed all about the Widener Library, and she'd shyly pointed out the familiar parts of campus from Legally Blonde, a movie she had unwittingly confessed to being her initiation into wanting to attend Harvard while drunk last month.

It's late afternoon now, and they've found a quieter spot to sit and enjoy the cooler weather while she tells him every little piece of trivia she can remember from her tour and countless hours researching the institution. She looks happy here, like she fits perfectly into the scenery. He smiles as he imagines her strolling along the pathway to his left, her arms full of books, her headphones playing the cheesy music she pretends not to listen to, her soul alight with the wealth of new knowledge at her fingertips.

"You're not listening to me, are you?"

He chuckles at the unimpressed look on her face. "Sorry, I just… It's nice to see you like this. You're so excited about this place that you're basically vibrating."

She purses her lips to stave off a smile of her own. "Don't tease my dream come true."

"Never," he says seriously, pressing their arms together as they look back at the statue. "I'm so happy for you, MJ. You deserve this. You deserve the world - nay, the universe."

She lapses into silence for so long that he has to check she's still there beside him.

"You deserve this too, Peter. You deserve to be happy."

He squeezes her hand where they lay in her lap. "Thank you. For everything."

Their gaze remains locked for a long moment before she breaks it, resting her head on his shoulder. "I think you'd suit college, if it interests you. You already have the sleep schedule of a college student - and the appetite of one."

"Maybe. I don't think the thought of it scares me quite as much now."

She smirks, and he's pretty sure that was her plan all along. "New York has plenty of good schools. Then you can still do your friendly neighbourhood schtick."

He nods. "I know. May made a point of leaving their brochures all over the apartment last year."

He sounds sad, and Michelle looks at him in concern - but that's not why he's sad.

All he can think about it how they're running out of time. This time next week, he'll have to relearn how to sleep without her. He'll have to face the consequences of his runaway summer. He'll be back to a life he doesn't think he wants, forced to muddle through the rubble until he can find what's worth salvaging.

He's going to lose _this,_ and it's killing him.

It must be written all over his face, because Michelle rubs her thumb over the crease between his eyebrows and attempts a brave smile. "It's going to be okay," she promises, "We don't end when this does."

"I don't want to lose you," he confesses anyway.

"Neither do I." She looks at him and he struggles to label it friendly - because is that what they are? Friends?

He knows they're more than that. He can see it in the dark shadows of her eyes that she knows too.

"Why did you really ask me to come with you?" he says quietly. "And don't say it's because I have a car. I know there's another reason."

Michelle's gaze flickers across her face before settling on his neck. “I don’t know, Parker, I just did.”

It’s silent for a long time, and he sees a quiver in her chin.

“It’s okay, MJ. You can tell me.”

He sees her internal struggle, knows this is the most important secret either she's yet to reveal. That this is MJ finally letting him in, letting him see the good, the bad, the scars and the baggage.

He wants it know it all, wants to take it all and show her a better side of life, show her that they’re not as different as she thinks.

"I wanted some time to be myself; to have an adventure; to live a life that wasn't already scripted for me." Her exhale is shaky with emotion. "To leave behind the pressure of amazing grades and looking after my mom and working any job I could just so I could save up for college. I wanted to _escape_ \- just for a while, and when I looked at you... I saw that need in you, too. Why go alone when you can have a friend by your side? I didn't have anything to lose in asking."

His last question is finally answered, yet he still wants to know so much more. He'll probably never get over wanting to learn her.

Michelle finally meets his eye again, her body shifting minutely towards him. "I didn't know it would become this. I just thought…"

Her unfinished sentence dangles between them, so many possibilities right in front of them. The air is filled with something sharp and warm and addictive. He brushes the hair from her face and hears her inhale get stuck in her throat, and -

 _Oh._ Could this be…

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispers.

“Like what?”

She licks her lips. “Like… Like you want to kiss me.”

And there it is. Perhaps his most important secret still remaining.

It would be so easy - just a gentle lean forwards and their lips would meet. He wants it so viscerally that it hurts his stomach. Kissing Michelle would be his own dream come true.

"We… We should…"

But there's still reasons why not.

So he lets the moment fizzle out and pretends he can't feel his heart break when she untangles their hands.

_“Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.”_

**DO YOU BELIEVE IN FAIRIES?**

"I can't believe you're gonna be home in three days," May says wistfully, the stem of her wine glass balanced precariously between two fingers. "I can't wait to wrap you in the biggest hug."

"Me too," he says, unable to look away from the image of her curled up on their sofa with his favourite blanket, half a bottle in and getting progressively more sappy. "I've missed you, Aunt May. So much."

"I miss you too." May gives him a toothy grin before her expression drops. "But the first thing you're doing is tidying room. You left it a mess. And you're grounded until you're 30. And get a haircut before you come back, please."

Peter bites his lip, nodding his agreement. "Okay, May. Whatever you say."

"I love you, kiddo."

"I love you, too."

He signs off their video chat and kicks at the cool water of the motel pool, entertaining himself with the ripples his splashing creates in the still water. It's late enough that most of the rooms have their lights off, some faulty floodlights lighting up the otherwise empty space.

"Hey,  señor araña." Michelle's hand slips around his shoulders, her voice velvety soft against his ear. "How's home?"

"She's good. Looking forward to seeing me, I think."

"Good. Not long now." Michelle slips into view, shooting him a wink as she eases herself into the pool, the image of her black swimsuit morphing with the unsettled water. She kicks away from the edge and drifts into the centre, flicking water at him when she catches him watching her. "Are you going to join me?"

Something in her gaze makes him sure it's a terrible idea.

It's the same thing he'd seen when her hand had drifted down his spine last night, or when he'd pulled her closer than necessary for a photo in front of MIT for Ned, or right before he'd broken the moment at Harvard two days ago.

It's dangerous, but he's wired to face danger head on and he can't see how it'll end in anything other than devastation.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Michelle wades through the water on her toes, looking up as he towers over her from the edge.

"Nothing about this trip was a good idea. That was the point."

Her hands leave wet prints on his jeans as they settle on his knees.

"MJ," he groans, "I think you're going to be the death of me."

Michelle hums, water streaming over her exposed skin as she lifts her torso, her face so close to his now. "Get in the pool, Parker."

His fingers curl around the edge so tightly he feels the stone crack. She's a temptress; a siren that has completely captivated him. He can't tear his eyes away from her mouth as it parts with her exhale. He barely even notices how she fists his shirt in an iron grip, too focused on the fingertips dancing over his forearm.

"Do I have to pull you in?"

"I have quick reflexes," he says under his breath. "You're not fast enough to succeed."

It's the stupidest thing he could have said, because now he's presented her with an impossible challenge.

She leans up until their noses brush, gaze still locked. "Oh really?"

His mouth is dry. His heart has stopped beating.

"Unfortunately, you made one... Very small, but... Fatal error."

He frowns. "What?"

"You shouldn't have shown me how to use these."

The last thing he hears before his body hits the water is the unmistakable sound of _thwip._

He splutters indignantly as he finds air once more, pushing his hair out of his eyes and looking wildly around him until he sees her towards the other end of the pool, doubled over with laughter. She waves to flash him a look of the web-shooter she'd snagged from his wrist, the strand she'd used to tug him off his balance floating out from it's place against his sodden shirt.

"That's _it,_ Michelle Jones. You've started something you'll never be able to finish."

He sucks in a breath and dives under the water again, swimming too fast for her to escape his hands as they tug at her knees so she tumbles over, her surprised expression breaking the water to his absolute delight.

They both emerge at the same moment, Peter laughing as she complains about her wet hair. She grabs at the webbing still stuck to him and - when he doesn't budge - uses it to pull her closer, their knees brushing as she stops in front of him, splashing him petulantly.

"Bringing your abilities into this does not create a fair battlefield."

He picks up the arm still housing his invention. "That's on you."

Michelle smirks, ruffling his wet hair. "You look ridiculous."

"Again: That's on you."

She scoffs and uses her arms to swim slowly towards the ladder. "Don't blame me for putting off your haircut."

"Is it really that bad?" he calls to her retreating figure, wading through the water to follow her. "I think it looks okay!"

Michelle pulls a face that definitely means she doesn't agree before taking quick steps through the cold night's air, wet footprints marking her path back to their room. He picks up his phone from where he'd left it by the pool's edge and pulls off his shirt to wring out the excess water before heading back himself. The door opens with just a nudge of his toe, Michelle already in the bathroom.

He peels the wet denim from his legs and squeezes them outside their room's door, hanging them from the coat hook on the wall for lack of a better spot. He's rifling through his belongings when he hears the bathroom door open, spinning around in just his wet boxers to see her gasp in surprise, a towel barely covering her properly.

"I'm so sorry, I just thought -"

"I forgot my toiletry bag, I didn't realise -"

They both trip over their words and he thinks his whole body might be blushing, stumbling in his effort to turn and give her back some kind of dignity, his already long gone.

"Sorry," he stutters again, desperately clinging to the random shirt he'd happened to have in his hand.

He hears the sound of a zip and then the door closing, the hum of the water in the pipes following shortly afterwards.

Peter tries to release the breath stuck in his chest, getting dizzy as he fails to remember how to do a basic requirement of life.

He gets dressed into a dirty outfit faster than he's ever managed before, and tries to figure out how to appear completely normal and not at all like he's falling apart at the sight of her nearly nude.

He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of the pain from a building falling on top of him, the taste of expired milk, and the sound of their old cat gasping its last breath.

They don't exchange a word as they swap rooms, and Peter spends far too long in the shower thinking about how to tackle the awkward tension he'd gotten a glimpse of moments before.

When he eventually walks out of the bathroom, Michelle is already in bed, duvet pulled up her nose.

The sight of her sharp eyes peeking over the faded white sheets makes a bubble of laughter burst from his chest before he can think to stop it.

"Now who looks ridiculous," he teases, and she pulls the sheets away from her chin so she reply.

"It's still you."

Peter glances down at the faded science pun on his shirt and the pyjama pants that might actually be hers. "Okay, that's fair."

He moves across the room to put away his belongings and then hovers at the foot of the bed, thinking through his words. "So, uh -"

"Oh my _God_ , just get in the bed already." Michelle flings back the covers and sits up, jaw clenched. "We've been sleeping together for three months, it's not like we saw anything new."

He knows it's true objectively - she'd been more exposed in the swimsuit and this isn't their first time at a pool together so she'd definitely seen him in just his - but it's not the same and he knows she knows it- her body hidden inside a pair of leggings and his hoodie that's far too heavy to sleep in, despite the cooler temperatures this high up the country.

Still, he climbs into his side of the bed and tucks his toes under the duvet, mirroring her position against the headboard.

A weird silence stretches between them.

He breaks it with the first thought that's safe to leave his head. "Can you believe this is our second to last night?"

"Nope," she says, voice clipped, hands splayed over her knees as she pulls them to her chest.

"I think I'm most looking forward to New York bagels," he continues. "that or something from Delmar's."

"I'm looking forward to a decent slice of pizza." She cracks a smile. "Maybe from that place at the end of 12th?"

"Nah, you need to go to Sal's. They have the best pizza."

"Sal's? Didn't they violate health codes recently?"

"Doesn't change my mind."

This time the short silence is more settled, and he sighs, asking, "Do you think it'll taste differently, now we're been trying it all over the country?"

He doesn't get an answer, because at the same time she blurts out, "I think we should kiss."

His eyes widen as he stares at her, shock immobilising his limbs.

"Wh-What? _Why?_ I don't - MJ, you - I - _What?_ "

She swallows nervously, breath stuttering as she rushing to explain herself. "Just hear me out, okay? I think we've both been thinking about it and we keep having these _moments_ and - and maybe it'll be awful, but we won't know until we try, right? And if we agree to not let it get in the way of friendship - a purely experimental kiss to test a hypothesis, because we're running out of time and I'd like to know, before I have to leave again, if we're -"

"Okay."

Michelle fiddles with the cuffs of the hoodie, like she's full of a nervous energy that he no longer feels. "Really? Are you sure?"

"I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind," he shyly admits, twisting to face her properly. "So why not, right? Like you said, this whole trip was based on terrible ideas."

He starts thinking about the best way to go about this - where does he put his hands? And how long is it going to do on for? - when Michelle springs out of her seat and lands her mouth right on his.

It's… Weird.

She pulls away and wrinkles her nose. "I'm sorry, that was rude -"

He tilts his head up and tries again, a little softer with a little more purpose.

"Now we're both rude," he says when he quickly pulls back.

He fully expects that to be the end of things, but she doesn't move away, hovering over him still like she's been left on pause.

Then her fingers touch his jaw and his hands grip her waist and they both move until their noses brush and their lips can move together. And all the stupid things he'd read about fireworks and sparks and whatever else he can't remember right now suddenly make sense.

Kissing Michelle is _incredible._

Every one of his senses stops picking up on useless data and focuses solely on her - the feel of her pressing closer, the taste of her toothpaste and the green gummy bears he'd thrown into her mouth earlier, the sound of her gasping for breath every time they change their angle, exploring what makes the other tick.

Her teeth nip at his bottom lip and his tongue caresses the roof of her mouth and his hands slip under the hem of the hoodie to press against her smooth skin.

He clings to her, wanting more, more, _more_ of her, everything she has to offer.

They both reluctantly slow down until they finally break apart, breathing each other in. Peter's flingers flex against her back as he resists the urge to pull her back. He's overcome with greed but also lost in her eyes and he's definitely drunk off the feel of her perched on his lap.

"Fuck," she whispers as he presses their foreheads together.

"Yeah," he agrees. Her thumb traces the line of his jaw, burning him everywhere she touches. "So, your hypothesis. How did we do?"

"You're the science nerd, you tell me."

He pretends to consider it. "I think the results were inclusive. Probably have to try again."

She playfully flicks his earlobe.

He grins for a moment before sobering. "My conclusion is… Trouble."

Michelle sighs and her chest touches his chest and he takes a quick moment to count to ten in every language he can manage.

"I concur," she says eventually. "That was another terrible idea."

***

" _'Of course Neverland had been make-believe in those days; but it was real now, and there were no night-lights, and it was getting darker every moment, and where was Nana?'_ "

"…Did you say something, MJ?"

"No, Peter. Go back to sleep."

***

They spend their last full day in Massachusetts exploring art galleries and finding local tea suppliers and eating as much as they can stomach, because it means their mouths are busy and they don't have to talk about the rift they'd accidentally opened last night.

They talk all day and say absolutely nothing.

He's never been able to appreciate art before, but with Michelle there bringing it all to life he understands it more than he could have ever imagined.

He wants to kiss her again. Right there, in front of the painting that looks just like how she makes him feel.

They walk away and when their hands brush they pretend not to notice.

***

Peter is sad, and the problem with that is this: he wants her to lie on top of him again, citing some scientific nonsense but really just wanting to be near him.

And then he thinks about her being on top of him and that's a whole _other_ problem.

So he just stays sad all day and well into the evening, and Michelle pretends not to notice because that's apparently what they do now.

They're not even done yet but it's already ending.

He thinks about how Peter Pan forgot all about Wendy Darling despite their many adventures, and he knows to the core of his being that it isn't true.

How could he ever forget running away with Michelle Jones?

***

Peter sits alone in their motel room, staring at their packed suitcases and the clutter on the drawer unit he's supposed to be finding space for.

Tomorrow, they have to go home. Tomorrow, they have to face those they left behind.

Tomorrow, she won't be by his side any more.

This is how Michelle finds him when she returns from the store, her smile lacking in anything that makes smiles work properly. She drops a small bottle of their favourite vodka onto the bed beside him, opening the Chinese take out and handing him his order.

They eat in silence, both focusing too hard on the mindless drivel on the TV.

The bottle gets passed between them until it's finished, and then Peter crawls under the sheets until he's curled up tight around his pillow. Michelle ducks into the bathroom but joins him quickly, untangling his numb limbs with cold fingers until she can slot herself under his arm and against his chest.

It's an echo of how they'd been before and he locks his arms around her, like he can keep her there forever if he only bothers to risk everything else.

The moon shines through the open curtains, but neither of them bother to get up and close them. They lie there until one hour ticks into two, thoughts racing of what's to come in just 24 more.

He thinks saying goodbye might tear him apart.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he whispers into the dark.

"I think we're past that." She shifts beside him and sighs. "Yes, okay."

"I don't want tonight to end." There's a long pause, so long he'd believe she'd fallen asleep were it not for the unsteady beat of her heart that echoes in his ears.

"This isn't Neverland, Peter. We can't escape growing up forever."

It's not what he meant and he's pretty sure she knows it.

A more accurate confession would be that he doesn't want _them_ to end. She's going to college and he's returning to an undecided life, and she won't be next to him every morning when he wakes up with her fruit teas and latest book choice, and she won't pull that face anymore at the meals he attempts to prepare them. He won't know just what she's thinking with a single look, or see how her smile lights up her whole face and the world around it.

"That's not what I'm scared of," he whispers, finding her eyes in the dim moonlight and holding her gaze, trying to put everything he means into his next words. "I'm gonna miss you."

She opens her mouth to rebuff him, then snaps it shut. When she finally speaks, it's deep and full of truth and promise. "You won't have to. We're always going to be a part of each other's lives."

"Don't say that," he says quickly through a tight throat, tears burning his eyes. "Don't promise something you can't be certain of. We've only really known each other for three months, and soon you're going to be thousands of miles away and yeah, okay, we'll probably talk for a bit and maybe meet up at Christmas, but soon you'll be too busy and I… Talking every day will turn into every other day, then once a week, a month, then it'll just be the odd comment on social media and you'll be -"

His mouth becomes otherwise occupied with something completely different that falling into an existential crisis when she leans forward and kisses him.

Their teeth clatter together and noses squash against each other, but it's beautiful and perfect and when she pulls away, it's only to allow him a second to process what's happening before she leans forward again and this time she's impossibly gentle, fingertips caressing his cheek as his hand slides into her hair. It's everything he's wanted all summer, and he pulls her closer, desperate not to lose this feeling.

She's warmth and wit and a little broken, but so is he, and when she sighs into his mouth he feels their broken pieces fit perfectly together. She pushes her chest flush against his own and he can hear the pounding of her heart in time with his. His palm slides under her shirt to the small of her back and she tugs at his hair, a shiver running down her spine to where his fingers dance ever higher.

When she pulls away her gaze is full of determination, holding his face to keep his eyes on hers.

"I don't have much luck when it comes to getting close to people, but with you… It's effortless. You make me feel… Different. So, no. Don't worry about missing me. I don't think I'll be giving you the chance to."

He smiles, and this time when they kiss, it's sweet and slow and maddening and breathtaking.

For the first time, he feels settled.

He feels human.

_“The last thing he ever said to me was, 'Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.'”_

**THE RETURN HOME**

They'd discussed what they were going to do on their last morning a hundred times with increasingly ridiculous suggestions, but in the end they spend it in bed, learning a whole new side of each other.

Michelle is panting against his neck as he takes his time calculating the curve of her collarbone with his lips. They're skimming dangerous territory - they need to leave soon if they want to make it back before nightfall, but she'd pulled off her shirt five minutes ago and given him more skin to memorise. It takes up every space of his brain and he completely forgets about the looming time pressure.

"Peter, come on." Michelle's long since given up on getting his own top off, her hands buried beneath the fabric. They are driving him crazy and he has to make a conscious effort to keep his hips away from her, knowing they're not even close to ready for _that,_ but unable to stop his fingers from trailing over the top of her thighs anyway.

In the end, it's an alarm that puts a stop to the escalating situation.

He groans against her sternum as she tries to pull away to turn it off. "Five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago." Michelle tugs on his chin to press a quick kiss to his mouth. "We can't keep putting this off. Time to go."

He huffs, but rolls off her and to his feet in one move, grabbing her shirt and throwing it to her. His pout deepens as the dark fabric hides away his unfinished business and she pokes her tongue out at him.

"Are you sure you have to college?" he asks, mostly joking. "I think we could have a good life, just the two of us like this."

His cheeks burns a fierce red when she stalls in slipping on her shoes. How did he possibly think saying something that heavy was a good idea?

Michelle stares at the wall behind him until he can't bear it another second, opening his mouth to find a fix when she speaks. "Alright, loverboy. Let's get moving."

She grabs her backpack and he picks up the last suitcase and they head down to add them to the rest of their belongings, already packed in and ready to go. She disappears to settle up their final bill and he climbs into the drivers seat, turning on the air-con to fight off the stale heat inside.

He bashes his head against the steering wheel. "How are you such a dumbass, Peter," he mutters to himself. "'We could have a good life' - are you kidding me? You only kissed her two days ago!"

***

She doesn't play any music on the drive back. It's just the whispers of the radio and their minds.

"MJ, I -"

"I know." He doesn't even know what he was going to say, but she reaches out and touches him, her eyes trained on the cars that rush beside them. "Me too."

They drive the last hundred miles home in silence, their hands laced together.

***

Michelle stares up at her building, like she's been doing for the last five minutes without making any move to leave.

She's still holding his hand. He thinks his heart might shatter when she finally lets go.

"Okay." She turns to him with a determined set to her jaw. "I should head in."

He doesn't want her to. He nods anyway.

"It's fine. I'm gonna see you tomorrow, right? For your birthday." She's looking at him but it's like she's talking to herself, her eyes drifting all over his face. Maybe she's trying to memorise him too, just in case - of what, who knows, but he needs to remember this.

"Sure. It's really only seventeen hours and thirty two minutes, as long as you're not late."

She grins and cups his cheek. "You're such a nerd."

He presses forward and kisses her, and she tastes like the honey from her tea and a deep sense of longing. It goes on for far too long but Michelle doesn't falter, the moment extending across all of time as they face their first night apart.

She drags herself away and out of the car, pulling out her suitcase and her bag and then ducking back into the passenger side. "See you tomorrow, Peter Parker."

He gives her a wet smile. "Bye, MJ."

She shakes her head.

" _'Never say goodbye,'_ " she says softly, before she finally walks away, " _'Because goodbye means going away… And going away means forgetting.'_ "

***

After a very long and emotional reunion with his Aunt, Peter lies in his own bed for the first time in three months and feels cold.

The heat is stifling in the city tonight, but he barely notices it without her.

He thinks about digging out his suits, the ache in him from missing his alter ego deep and vibrating with power, but he knows if he leaves this room that he'll end up at the one place he wants to be most.

He needs to remember how to breathe without her. He needs to relearn how to be by himself, because in a few days he won't have a choice.

His phone buzzes beside him and he answers before the first ring can even finish.

"Hey."

"MJ." He exhales, relaxing back into the mattress. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. How was your Aunt?"

"Cried a lot, bought too much take out, kept hugging me and slapping the back of my head. How's your mom?"

Michelle sighs. "Doing better, I think. Despite everything, it seems my dad coming back has been good for her."

"Good. That's… That's good. I'm glad she's okay." They're silent for a moment and all the things he hasn't said swirl in his mind, begging to be released.

"I can't sleep," she confesses, almost whispering through the speaker.

"Me too," he says. _I miss you,_ he means.

"Will you read to me?" She sounds so vulnerable and it just makes him want to hold her all the more, but he shouldn't, so he rolls over and curls his arm around his pillow and imagines she's there instead.

"What do you want me to read?"

"You know the answer to that." He can hear her smile and it settles him, to know she's okay. "Just not the ending. Choose a good bit from the middle, when they're still on an adventure."

***

He reads to her for the next three nights, and together they avoid the ending for as long as they can.

Until -

He's standing in front of her father's car and she's trying not to cry and he feels like everything that's just begun to make sense in life is crumbling beneath him, and he pulls her into his arms for the last time.

"Don't cry, spiderling. If you cry then I'll cry and it'll be a whole mess."

He laughs into her neck and tightens his hold on her. "Okay, MJ. No tears."

She pulls back and there's pain in her eyes so profound that it steals his breath. He tangles his fingers in her hair and tries not to think about why.

Michelle slants her lips against his, and he doesn't have to. He knows now.

There’s something different about this kiss. Their first kiss had been soft, and full of promise, full of hello; I’ve finally found you. This kiss is desperate and he can taste the salt from a tear that slips down one of their cheeks, he’s not sure who, and it feels an awful lot like goodbye.

His mouth becomes more insistent and she lets him consume her, both of their hands clinging to each other's shoulders. Every moment his heart has ever broken echoes through the fragments she leaves behind when she pulls away.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispers, forehead resting against hers, gripping her hands to his chest.

She smiles, but it’s sad. “No,” she says, “Because I’m pretty sure it’ll stop me being able to get in that car - and I have to get in that car, Peter. I’ve worked my whole life for this, and it wasn’t supposed to be this hard to leave."

"You said no goodbyes," he argues, "Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?"

"I'm not, I'm not." She kisses him to reassure him. "This is a… I'm saying, 'See you later'. We both have things we need to do and I don't want us to hold each other back, okay? I need to learn how to become myself, and you need to find what you want in life, and… We won't survive together if we don't do that first."

She cups his cheeks again and tears spill down her face. "I'm gonna make you a deal, Parker. You keep your secret for a while, and I'll keep mine. If we both still have secrets next summer, then maybe… Maybe we can find a way."

"Right here," he promises. "I'll be in this spot, the first day of summer; waiting for you."

He kisses her smile and her tears and when her Mom finally emerges from inside to remind them of the time, he kisses her again - just once. The last one.

For now.

There will be another chance, he's sure. More sure than he's ever been.

He walks away and her fingers slip from his.

She's drives away with his heart.

_“I'll hold you in my heart, until I can hold you in my arms.”_

**WHEN WENDY GREW UP**

Michelle walks out of her final class of Freshman year with a lack of enthusiasm and a good helping of reluctance.

Summer is here.

The moment she'd been waiting for and it's here and… She doesn't want to go home.

She's scared and she hates it.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

Freshman year has been everything she could have dreamed. She's learnt so much it makes her head hurt and made friends who make her laugh until her stomach hurts. She's finally grown into her skin - no longer a lost girl but a woman who learning who she really is.

The walk back to her dorm is too short, and she crashes through the door only to be met by her empty bedroom. She'd shipped most of her belongings back home at the weekend, now left with just the essentials in a single suitcase that makes her chest throb. Her train isn't for a few hours and she has nothing left to do in here - she'd spent yesterday scrubbing it clean and gotten up early this morning to make sure she was packed - but now she resents her past self for robbing her of a task to pass the time.

Michelle grabs her case and walks right back out, heading down to drop off her key.

Once all the paperwork is signed she wanders the campus, watching the last dregs of students as they go about their final days. Her suitcase clatters noisily over the paving of the pathway and she eases her sudden flare of anger by sitting down on an empty bench, searching through her backpack for the book she was supposed to keeping for her trip home.

When she looks back up, she meets the eye of a achingly familiar face.

She drops the book and sighs, memories filling her bones with a warmth she's been missing for too long now.

Peter has stubbornly refused to be far from her thoughts no matter what she got up to for the past year. They talk around the pact, which is pretty easy when most of your conversation is through text messages - he likes sending her stupid Youtube edits of his spidey shenanigans and streams of conscience about whatever is lingering on his mind, and she usually responds with reaction gifs from her favourite shows. He then takes to bingeing them so he can debate the moral implications of the show and whatever erotic subtext he can squeeze from any particular moment.

She sends him photos of her favourite art pieces and the lines she likes from her reading and did he go to therapy this morning? He's never missed a session but now it's just a habit, an excuse to check in.

She's seen him just the once - two days after Christmas at the Rockefeller tree, drinking hot chocolates with Ned and smiling whenever they got pushed together by the crowd.

She'd still missed him, even when he was right in front of her.

She misses him now, their looming reunion weighing heavy on her mind.

Michelle glares at John Harvard's fake face until the tears threatening to spill over finally subside.

***

She reads her book for an hour before she gives in, thinking about lemon and ginger tea and those muffins from the student coffee shop with the gooey centres.

She collects her things and follows the familiar path to the edge of campus. There's birds chirping in the trees and she can smell the tulips blooming in the flowerbeds, her favourite pair of shorts exposing her legs to the warm sun.

A little ways in front of her, she hears the sigh of an engine powering down.

She pulls out her phone, checks her messages, slips it back into her back pocket.

It's been three days since she heard from him, her unanswered question on college acceptance letters dangling in the space between them. His silence so close to when they're supposed to find each other has been driving her crazy, only eased by the stupid pictures Ned sends her as he too reaches the end of his first year at MIT.

Ned still talking to her is a good sign, she thinks. If he's still engaging with her, then maybe…

Something shifts in the air around her. Something magnetic and ablaze and inexplicably, always -

She looks up and sees the cool gunmetal grey of a car bonnet, and the boy leaning against it with a smile just for her.

Her bag falls from her shoulder with a defining thud.

"…Peter?"

"Hi, MJ."

Her feet are rooted to the spot some ten feet away, and she rubs harshly at her eyes in case she's somehow hallucinating him.

When the static clears he's still there, the sleeves of his flannel rolled up to his elbows, the same beat up pair of jeans catching beneath the heel of his sneakers.

“What are you doing here?”

Peter shrugs, like it's somehow normal for him to be here on her campus; like this happens all the time. “I know we had a plan, but… I thought you might want a lift home."

Then; "Or… Well, I still owe you an ironic trip to Florida."

And finally; "And… I missed you. A lot. Like, it was _painful_ and I - MJ, can you stop staring at me and just get over here please?”

She runs, throwing herself into his waiting arms.

Peter holds her tight and it feels exactly like home.

"Do you still -"

"Of course I do, you idiot."

He breathes her in and his lips make the final moves to reach her own, her fingers tingling with the anticipation.

Peter kisses her, soft and sweet, and she watches his nose crinkle with the grin that she’s now kissing back. Her nerves settle into a quiet contentment, his fingers brushing her arm, her cheek, her hips. She eventually lets her eyes close as he sighs against her lips, lets herself be taken away by the sensation of him touching her, having him so close after so long. His smile makes the kiss sloppy but she’s smiling too, both too happy with this moment to control it.

Every doubt she had fades away. Every moment she agonised over his feelings - if they were the same as hers, if he would remember the thrill of falling for each other, if he would wait for her like he'd promised. She's filled instead with the golden way he makes her soul glow.

When they part they're both crying tears of joy, unable to let each other go.

He looks into her eyes and she realises this is the first time he's looked truly happy. She looks into his eyes and sees love, and warmth, and something… _more._ Something that looks a lot like tomorrow, and next week, and months and years where these beautiful dark eyes will be staring right back at her on every adventure they choose to take.

Together.

_"To live will be an awfully big adventure."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun with the spider references in this one you guys don't @ me
> 
> also my legally blonde head canon is from a fic I will probably never finish writing but it's stuck so...
> 
> Anyway, let me know your thoughts! Share the love! Explore all the amazing things that had been made for you all this week! Be happy and safe and wonderful <3

**Author's Note:**

> Do you like it? Let me know! I'm looking forward to your thoughts!
> 
> mjonesing on Tumblr if you want to find me


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